


Tales From the Tower: The Missing Floors

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Tales From the Tower [23]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sex on Furniture, Smut, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:50:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4887970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-offs, PWPs, drabble, and missing scenes from the Tales From the Tower series.</p>
<p>First Chapter is Table of Contents. Tags will be updated with applicable chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Goodness! Two postings in one day. It's like I have free time or something. . .
> 
> Here is the promised collection of missing scenes and general dribbles from the Tales series. They range from general fluff to angst to out-and-out smut. I gave the whole fic an M and will note specific ratings on each chapter. Chapter one will function as our table of contents.
> 
> We are accepting prompts/requests for scenes you'd like to see. It's open to any Tales characters or established couples. We know a lot of you have couples you're hoping to see but please stick with established ones. So "Maria Hill and Sam Wilson making out in the store room" would not get written. "A day in the life of Maria Hill" might. Feel free to include minor characters, too, if you're dying to know what Tiffani or Kevin is doing. We don't promise when/if we'll write any of them. But we're often looking for quick and easy stuff to write and love new ideas. So if you have any post in the Chapter 1 Comments.

1: **Table of Contents**  
2: **My Big Fat Captain America Wedding** (Steve/Sharon) The wedding of the year happens. Set between ch 12 and 13 of Heavy Boots. Rating: G  
3\. **Behind Closed Doors** (Steve/Sharon) Comfort smut in the bunker after the fight in South Africa. Or, how _did_ that couch get broken? Set during ch 6 of Heavy Boots. Rating: E  
4\. **Boring Married People** (Darcy/Cal) The elopement and wedding night. Set between ch 12 and 13 of Heavy Boots. Rating: E  
5\. **Cool Down Methods** (Steve/Sharon) Celebratory sex on the helicarrier after Sokovia. Set between ch 10 and 11 of Heavy Boots Rating: E  
6\. **A Feature, Not a Bug** (Bucky/Amanda) The vibrating arm becomes a reality with the expected results. Set between Heavy Boots and Real Housewives. Rating E  
7\. **Thor's Adventures in Babysitting** (Thor/Jane, General) One precocious second grader is no match for The Mighty Thor. Set sometime before Heavy Boots. Rating: G  
8\. **Peace, Quiet, and Breakfast Treats** (Clint/Nat) Breakfast with the Bartons and Maximoffs, and Clint takes one of his fledglings to the range for some bonding. Set between ch 12 and 13 of Heavy Boots. Rating: G  
9\. **The Fake Honeymoon** (Clint/Nat) More of Clint and Nat's trip to Hawaii in 2010. Trimmed from the original story for flow/pacing reasons. Set immediately after (or a continuation of) Chapter 10 of Best Mistake I Never Made. Rating: T  
10\. **Ada the Clever** (featuring Ada Marsh and Syn the Truthful (OFC from Dark Inside series): Ada makes a new friend on a visit to Asgard. Set after Heavy Boots of Lead, Rating: G


	2. My Big Fat Captain America Wedding

Sharon had not been the little girl who planned her wedding using her stuffed animals as guests and grooms and a pillowcase on her head for a veil. She'd been too busy fantasizing about fighting Nazis and Commies and saving the boys butts. Weddings and romance, if featured, we brisk, simple things, with the boys she'd saved declaring their love for her and going home to keep house while she continued her adventures.

In retrospect, she probably spent a _little_ too much time with Aunt Peggy in her formative years.

In any case, as excited and happy as she was to be marrying Steve, she was just as excited and happy when he offered - along with the Wives Club - to plan the whole affair for her. Seeing as how she was busy keeping the Avengers together as a team and not in jail, it felt like a fair trade. She carved time out to pick a designer for her dress and weigh in on the bridesmaid dresses and left everything else up to him and the ladies. She'd told Steve she wanted to choose the photographer, but he'd insisted, very strenuously, that he had it covered. He was an artist himself, so she trusted him.

Pepper hired an event planner—and then a second one after the first got into a dispute with Amanda. Occasionally Steve showed her pictures of things, and mostly seemed to be running it like a military op—on top of the work he was doing with the new headquarters set up. The guest list expanded, until their wedding had become, quite literally, the Social Event of the Season. 

Her dress had been a matter of some debate. Sharon didn't know much about fashion, other than slinky black cocktail dresses she'd worn on missions and those had usually been handed to her by a handler with no input on her part. When news of the engagement had come out she'd gotten contacted by every designer in New York. Apparently, dressing Mrs. Captain America for her wedding was a big deal. She had sat down with Amanda, Nat, Darcy, Jane and Violet and watched videos from the last awards season, trying to figure out what style she liked and which designer would capture it best. It had been fun, but they didn't really come up with anything. She thought everything was pretty and couldn't pick anything.

Amanda had griped about it to Bucky and he had, apparently, picked up his iPad, Googled Veronica Lake and handed it to her. Thirties glamor - the kind Steve would have seen on the big screen as a young man - suited her just fine. Darcy had narrowed it down to three designers who did vintage style, they'd submitted designs and Sharon had picked the one she liked best from her cell phone outside a closed door senate meeting. And that had been the last time she'd thought about it until her first fitting.

Now, in the private parlor of the Met, getting carefully stitched into the dress by what felt like a full team of designers, she had to admit, she felt like a movie star.

She heard the door open across the room, and Darcy arguing with whomever it was. She hoped it wasn't Steve. He was not allowed to see her. She couldn't really turn at the moment, but Pepper got up in her peripheral vision and glided over. There was more murmurs. One of them had a British accent. The seamstresses released her and backed away rather suddenly, so she turned, and came face to face with Agatha Price, one of the most famous photographers in the world.

"Oh my God." She covered her mouth with a hand to keep from squealing. "I had your photos of the Hurricane Katrina clean up on my walls for years."

"That's a little weird," Darcy said and Pepper smacked her.

Sharon ignored her. "This dress is too tight for me to greet you with the exuberance I normally would."

"Your exuberance comes through fine." She leaned back, so she could bring her camera up and take a picture of Sharon. Agatha Price had just taken her picture. "Sorry I'm late. The downstairs shoot ran a little over. Someone brought Sgt. Barnes's baby down. Metal arm, frilly dress, I couldn't resist." She backed up a little to take another shot. 

"I'm going to need, like, eight copies of that," Amanda said. She had snagged the make-up artist and was sitting patiently while the woman tried to cover up her scar.

Sharon looked over at Pepper. "This is Agatha Price," she hissed. 

"I'm aware of that," she said with a grin. Obviously she'd known. Agatha had drifted over to scold the make-up artist about interesting faces. Sharon was not supposed to ask about these things, at Pepper's insistence, but she couldn't fathom what that had cost. Did price even matter to somebody like Agatha Price? "Apparently," Pepper was saying, "She has long wanted to do a spread on the Avengers. Steve got everybody to agree."

"They rejected my suggestion of a skin calendar," Darcy said. Pepper rolled her eyes. "Proceeds to charity!"

"This dress also prevents me from expressing my gratitude," Sharon said as the seamstresses stepped in again. "But seriously, consider yourself tackled."

"I had nothing to do with this. It was all Steve."

"I don't think I'm supposed to glomp on him until after the vows."

"Not sure that dress allows for glomping." Amanda had joined them. Apparently Agatha had won the fight because while the scar was carefully shaded to blend a bit better, it was still definitely there. "Though I imagine he'll enjoy ripping you out of it."

 "I specifically requested no fastenings," Sharon informed her.

"My wedding dress did not survive the night," Nat sat from over by Darcy.

"Ditto," said the brunette and they high-fived.

Sharon could easily have had the whole club as her bridesmaids. Seven seemed a little excessive, though, so she'd narrowed it to Darcy, Nat and Pepper, with Amanda as her matron of honor. She'd asked Maria, considering she'd known her the longest, but she'd politely declined. Her nieces and nephews were serving as collective flower girls and ring bearers. She'd felt horribly guilty about leaving out the others until Violet and Jane took her aside and assured her they were perfectly happy in the audience wrangling the children and Thor.

With that assortment of body types, picking one dress had been impossible, so she'd told them to keep to the vintage theme and whatever color scheme Steve had decided on and have fun. She'd ended up with with a couple of flappers and some forties pin ups.

The door opened again and her mother came in. She put her hands over her mouth when she say Sharon. "Oh, my goodness."

Tears pricked her eyes. Her mother waited for the dressmakers to step aside, then helped Sharon step down from the little dais so they could hug. "Hi, Mom," she said softly.

"I can't believe how beautiful you are. Actually, yes I can. But you're probably going to blow Steve away."

"That's the goal," she said. She stepped back. "Okay, no crying. My make-up is as good as it will ever be."

"I have something from you. Aunt Lily said you could borrow it." Her mother dug in her purse and pulled out a little jewelry pouch. From that she drew out a diamond tennis bracelet dotted with sapphires. "Old, borrowed and blue," she said with a smile.

Sharon watched her fasten it around her wrist. "That was Peggy's." She remembered seeing it on her aunt's wrist on several fancy occasions.

Her mother paused and looked up at her. "Is that all right? I thought you two were okay-"

"No." She shook her head. "No it's perfect. It would be nice to have a piece of her with me. I'll be sure to thank Lilly for letting me use it." She had been kind of stunned Lilly had RSVP'd. That she would be gracious and thoughtful seemed beyond the pale. Maybe she'd been visited by three ghosts, it was Christmas time after all.

"Your father is on his way up. He and your brothers went to talk to Steve." She'd worry about that, but she knew they all loved him. At thanksgiving that year he'd brought the shield down and let them throw it around the backyard like giant children, making himself friends for life.

"I'll go check with the coordinator and see what our timeline is," Amanda offered. Sharon smiled her thanks at her and paced a little. She didn't want to attempt sitting until after the ceremony.

Her friends and mother chatted and the hairdresser fussed and sprayed her hair so it lay properly. Embracing the Veronica Lake inspiration she'd grown her hair as long as she could and had it done in big dramatic waves, foregoing a veil. Agatha hovered around them, camera clicking the whole time.

They took some time for formal portraits of the girls. Her father arrived halfway through. He made her cry, and they had to pause to fix her make-up.

Then the wedding coordinator arrived and told her it was time for everyone to line up. Nerves clenched her stomach, which was sort of ridiculous considering she'd been in battle. But as she took her father's arm and started out of the room she felt as anxious as she'd ever been in her life.

The ceremony was in the Great Hall, a cavernous space with massive arched ceilings. It was like being in a medieval church. They'd used lighting and large arrangements of flowers and greenery to demarcate the actual ceremony space, leaving it surprisingly intimate for something that had 450 guests and was sort of feeling like a royal wedding. Besides, she could see Steve waiting for her at the end of the long aisle.

Amanda had reached her spot at the head of the aisle, so the music changed and the crowd stood as Sharon and her father stepped into view. Agatha was crouched near the front and Sharon was delighted to see she was snapping pictures of Steve's face as she walked towards him. The sight of him settled the flutters in her stomach and she beamed, holding tight to her father's arm.

He watched her, like there was nobody else in the room. Nobody else in the whole world.

They reached the end of the aisle and Steve stepped forward. He shook hands with her father, who clapped him on the arm, looking a little weepy. Then she took Steve's arm to that the last couple steps to face the officiant. "Hi," she whispered.

He swallowed and cleared his throat twice before getting out, "Hi."

The ceremony was a bit of a blur. She knew she said her lines when prompted. Steve said his and they slipped the gleaming metal bands onto each others fingers. Hers felt heavy, warm from being in Bucky's pocket and made the whole thing feel real. He lifted her hand and kissed her palm over the ring, like he was sealing the promise. Then, a moment later, he kissed her for real.

Four hundred and fifty people applauding was very loud, but for a moment they were alone in the world. It was good they weren't in church, because the kissing got a little intense. Then he lifted his head and she grinned at him, tears spilling over. 

"Ladies and gentlemen. Captain and Mrs Steven Rogers."

The applause only seemed to get louder. He let her go and turned, offering her his arm. She tucked her hand into the crook off his elbow and off they went.

The coordinator lead them back to the parlor she'd gotten dressed in and closed the door, giving them a few moments of privacy. Even Agatha stayed outside. Sharon wrapped her arms around him, trying not to cry too hard. "We got _married_."

He kissed her forehead. "I believe that was the point."

"I know. But it's real and we did it." She looked up. "And you got me Agatha Price as my wedding photographer and I love you so much."

"Only the best for my girl." He grinned. "I told you you could trust me."

She stretched up to kiss him and for a moment they got lost in each other again. Then someone tapped lightly on the door. "Are you decent?" Bucky called.

"Some of us have some self control," he called back.

The door creaked open. "Yeah, well, I've seen how you look at her." He poked his head in. "They moved the crowd into the cocktail hour room. We get to use the other rooms for portraits."

Steve reached for her hand. "Try not to spend the whole time fangirling."

"I promise nothing," she said, letting him tug her along. 

The pictures were fun, a lot of her and Steve posing and kissing, and them and their friends and family goofing around. Agatha assured them her team was busy photographing the cocktail hour. Someone even brought in the shield, because of course they did.

Sharon's favorite pose, by far, was Steve holding her bridal style and kissing her while she held the shield. Agatha showed it to her on her view screen and she knew that was going to end up over the mantle. She was greatly looking forward to the full Avengers spread Agatha would be doing after their honeymoon.

Staff had brought them cocktails and hors d'oeuvres to tide them over but by the time the pictures were over she was dying for a proper meal. She had no idea what was on the menu, but since Steve had been in charge of it she was sure it would be sizable.

At the doors to reception space, Steve lifted her hand to kiss it and asked, "Ready, Mrs. Rogers?"

She grinned up at him. "Once more into the breach, Cap."

"I adore you."

"Good thing you married me, then."

The doors opened, and they were announced into the room as Mr. and Mrs. Captain America. They made their way through the crowd, stopped a couple times to shake hands and hug people. They had a sweetheart table at the front of the room and she gratefully sank into her seat.

Bucky's best man speech was equal parts touching and poignant, involving a story about the two of them lying to their mothers so they could sneak into Harlem for a night to watch a jazz show when they were teenagers and ending with pondering the impossibility of where they had ended up. There were a lot of hankies being raised in the crowd and Sharon was pretty sure Steve was a little red-eyed when he stood to give Bucky a back-thumping hug.

Dinner was delicious—Sharon expected to spend it working the crowd, but Steve looked at her like she'd suggested they strip naked when she said so. Do not get between her husband and his dinner.

Her husband.

Darcy and Cal referred to each other as husband and wife as often as possible. Sharon and the others chuckled at their enthusiasm, but she now totally understood the desire. She was never calling him Steve again. He would be her husband at any opportunity. She was probably going to doodle "Mrs. Steve Rogers" on her notes in meetings. It was an amazing, heady feeling. To be his and for him to be hers.

They went out on the floor for their first dance. She'd expected more complaining from Steve about it. He'd managed stand-and-sway at Bucky and Amanda's wedding, but she knew it made him self-conscious, and he had. . . baggage about dancing. So she was quite surprised when he gave her a hand a tug and twirled her into a waltz. 

She hoped Agatha got a good shot of her gape-mouthed amazement. "Who are you and what have you done with my husband?"

"I'd like to tell you it was my own idea, but your girls ganged up on me. Amanda even got Bucky involved. He told me I was 'candy-ass', I believe was the word."

"I think they deputized Bucky into the club for the duration of the wedding planning. You have him to thank for this dress and hair style."

"He has good taste. And that dress is amazing."

She grinned and kissed his jaw so she could whisper, "There's no zipper or buttons."

He frowned. "Will we need to take in apart with a seam ripper?"

"I was thinking bare hands."

He leaned back. "You want me to rip you out of your wedding dress? I'll ruin it."

"That's kind of the point." At his expression, she tilted her head. "I'm never going to wear it again. And, apparently, it's pretty common. At least among our friends."

He opened and closed his mouth. "Nope. Not thinking about that. But I will be honored to rip you out of your obscenely expensive dress."

"Excellent." She rested her head on his chest and he held her closer as they finished their dance. 

Amanda gave a speech, and so did Sharon's father. His did some serious damage to her eye makeup. Steve thought garter tossing was tacky and bizarre, but Sharon wanted to throw her bouquet.

They gathered up all the single women and little girls into a group. Sharon didn't know most of them, other than Ada and her nieces. The only women she was friendly with who were "single" were Pepper, Maria and Violet. Pepper was married in name only, Maria was too dignified to engage, and Violet was currently missing Bruce in India too much to participate. So when Sharon turned her back to the ladies she just closed her eyes and gave it a good toss over her shoulder, not aiming at anyone.

There was quickly a shriek of joy, and a murmur of dissent from the crowd. Sharon turned to see Ada clutching the bouquet. She's caught it because Vision had lifted her up several feet over the top of the rest of the crowd's heads.

"She said she wanted it," Vision said neutrally, in response to the grumbles of the other ladies.

Laughing, Sharon came over and scooped Ada up, kissing her cheek. "Congratulations, honey."

"It's good to have friends who can fly," Ada informed her.

"That's very true." Violet came over to retrieve her, laughing too hard for any sort of scolding. They paused for Agatha to take a few pictures, then commenced with the party.

Drinks flowed freely. Thor had brought a whole keg of Asgardian mead that he, Steve and Bucky were happily sharing. Steve got a little handsy as the night wore on and the mead kicked in. Sharon wondered how many pictures they were going to have with his hand on her ass.

It was all right, though. Tipsy Steve would have no qualms about ripping her dress. At some point someone told them that Pietro Maximoff had the same inability to get drunk, and so they dragged him over to have mead. Sharon could not believe how much Steve danced.

Around midnight, she found a comfortable chair and plopped in it as the crowd started to thin out around her. Amanda sank into the ottoman beside her, a dozing Edie in her arms. "Excellent shindig, Doc," Sharon told her. "Well done."

"You're very welcome. A lot of credit goes to your husband."

"He did good." She sighed, happy. "Hell of a year."

"That's for sure." Amanda turned to look at her. "When I came upon you sitting next to Steve's bed. . . If I was an optimist, I'd have hoped this is where we'd end up." She gestured at Sharon's dress.

Sharon smiled. "I suppose being a pessimist means you occasionally get pleasantly surprised."

"I prefer to think of myself as a realist, but your point stands."

Steve was on the dance floor, trying to show a laughing Wanda how to waltz. Sharon watched him a minute. "I doubted it a few times myself. But it was worth the ride, getting here."

"Steve needs people to take care of him."

"He does. A lot of them do. Must be part of being the superhero type."

Amanda patted Edie's back. "It's worth it, though, isn't it?"

"It is. I wouldn't want anything different."

Steve made his way over to her. "Apparently it's time to cut the cake."

"Mmm. Cake." She reached for his hands and he pulled her to her feet.

He danced her in a circle on the way over. "Have I told you just how much I adore you?"

"I think it was implied in the whole bonding yourself to me for life thing earlier."

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. "Well, now I'm saying it explicitly."

She sighed happily, sinking into him. "I adore you, too." Stroking a hand through his hair she asked, "Can we leave after cake?"

"So I have been told."

"Let's go, then. I can't wait to get you alone."


	3. Behind Closed Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comfort smut in the bunker after the fight in South America. Or, how did that couch get broken? Set during ch 6 of Heavy Boots.

Steve had spent the entire flight turning his hallucination over in his head. He didn't talk much‚ but then no one did. Amanda went around checking for injuries without making much eye contact, and otherwise they were in their own world.

He watched everyone get off the plane from the ramp, watched Tony wrap Pepper and Ruby into a hug, watched Thor actually pick Jane up and just stand there for a few moment. He could feel Sharon looking at him, they made brief eye contact and then he looked back at his team, too rattled for anything else. He realized Bruce wasn't coming out, and Violet was giving him a very stern look that indicated she would handle it, and he was in the way. So, finally, he came down the ramp.

Sharon looked briefly uncertain but seemed to get over it when he reached her. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, tight enough it was almost painful, even through his uniform. 

She was here. Young and healthy. He hadn't lost her, hadn't lost _everything_. Not again. 

Her gripped loosened, and she pulled his arm so he'd come inside. Bucky and Amanda were in the hallway having a reunion with their daughter, and joined them in the elevators down. The silence made him think, made him feel again. It had been _so_ real.

They all got out on the same floor and Sharon guided him to the door on the right while the others went left without a word. The righthand door opened under Sharon's palm print and they stepped through into an oddly shaped living room with artificial windows on the wall currently displaying a tropical paradise.

After taking a moment to close and secure the door, Sharon turned back to him, opening her mouth to speak. He didn't let her. He didn't want to talk. He wanted. . . just to feel something different. So he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

She made a startled noise against his mouth, obviously surprised at the sudden attention. She responded to him immediately, though, sliding her arms around him and opening her mouth. It reminded him, oddly, of the very first time he'd kissed her, standing in the doorway of her apartment. He'd been in his uniform then, as well, though not nearly as shaken as he was now. It was a good memory.

_That._ Hang on to that. Him and her and how he'd felt like he'd finally put the needle back down on his life. "Please," he whispered against her mouth, not even really sure what he was asking for.

"I'm here," she told him, reassurance and a promise. Her hands went to the buckles and fastenings of his uniform. She knew how to undo it almost as well as he did by now, though he rarely had the patience to let her strip him alone. He tried to help, and he heard material ripping. He could not have possibly cared less, just as soon as her skin was touching his. 

After the second rip he stopped trying to help and focused on stripping her instead. Her shirt was big and loose so his hands slid easily under the soft fabric. He skimmed his hands up, stroking the soft skin of her belly and sides. When he cupped her breasts her back arched and a little moan bubbled out of her, as if she was surprised at the intensity of her own reaction.

She had a bra on, and it it was in his way. The most expedient thing was to just rip it in half, so he did. Her whole body shuddered at that. "I need you," he told her.

"Steve," she whispered. "Steve." He cupped and shaped her breast, tugging the nipple sharply. She reached up and tugged his head down so she could take his mouth in a hot, hungry kiss.

He found the fastenings on her jeans, got them opened and shoved the denim off her hips. Then he broke the kiss to drop down onto his knees to pull them down and off. Her underwear followed, and he bent to kiss her stomach.

Her fingers sank into his hair and he could feel her trembling. He ran his hands up her legs, reminding himself that she was young and strong and _his_. When he tugged one of those legs over his shoulder her breathing changed. And when he brought his mouth to her center, already slick and swollen with need, she made a sound that was desperate and wild. He could just get lost in her. Make her scream, make her come, take what they had right now and hold on.

He held her up has he tormented her, and she clawed his shoulders. It was all right, a little pain was good. Kept him from losing control. He knew her body as well as his own. Knew exactly how to tease her, to push her higher, and higher. Dimly, he heard her curse and beg him. At one point she slammed a hand flat against the wall in an effort to help keep her balance.

Her legs began to shake and he gripped her tighter, holding her up as she came, screaming, just as he'd hoped. He had to catch her, because she's started sliding down the wall as he stood. So he held her against his chest and let her catch her breath. He pressed his face into her hair and whispered, "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she mumbled, sounding dazed. His uniform pants were still on, confining his erection painfully. He needed them off. Needed to be inside her, as deep as he could get. But she didn't sound like she could stand on her own right now. He lifted her up, carrying her over to the couch nearby and setting her down. He meant to let go, to stand up and take his pants off, but her arms tightened on him. She knew him as well as he did her. They wrestled again with the buckles and the zipper, and then she made and annoyed noise and gave the fabric a hard yank. He heard a tear, and decided that was an excellent idea. Together they ripped a nonexistent fly into his pants, nearly tearing them in half in the effort.

That should probably worry him. Maybe later it would. Right now, he was free and Sharon was hooking a leg around him, drawing him closer as she whispered, "Please" over and over. As if there was any chance he'd deny her. As if anything short of the world ending would stop him sinking into her. Maybe not even that.

She surrounded him, warm and slick and perfect. Right there, like that, the off-kilter world seemed to straighten and settle. He could handle anything as long as he had her. Part of him was as sure of that as he'd ever been of anything.

For a moment he stayed still, forehead resting on hers, labored breath mingling. She stroked his hair, tender and gentle, willing to give him time despite her obvious need. They were in a slightly awkward position, half on and half off the couch. She had to grip the back to brace herself and he had a foot on the floor. But it gave him excellent leverage to move. When he did so, sliding out and thrusting back into her heat, Sharon gave a full body shudder, hips jerking into him. "Yes," she breathed.

She didn't say much, but he loved it when she talked to him. Mostly because the words sounded almost involuntary, like she couldn't hold them in. He thrust harder, bracing his hand on the arm rest. He moaned again, and she met his gaze with heavy lidded eyes—but she didn't look away.

There was a particular angle he hit sometimes, usually when they were in their exercise room and feeling acrobatic, that drove her absolutely crazy. She'd told him it was more intense, the climaxes harder. He could tell he was hitting in now. Could see it in her face, feel it in the way her body grew tense.

She curled her hand over his shoulder, nails digging into his skin. "Steve. More."

"I'll—I don't—" He didn't want to hurt her. They had far more significant padding in their room than this rickety couch, and he was more able to pace himself when he wasn't quite so emotionally wrecked. He should be careful But, God, it felt so good. He couldn't stop.

Maybe she read his doubts in his face. Maybe she was beyond caring, lost in her own wild, desperate pleasure. Her fingers dug in harder and she shifted, angling herself so he was sinking deeper. Her mouth dropped open but she held his gaze as she whispered, "Fuck me. More."

That was it. His civilized veneer fell away, and it was just him and her, pushing each other further—and ignoring the increasingly distressed creaking noises this couch was making. He braced on one hand hand reached between them to touch her, he he could feel her practically convulse under him.

"Fuck. _Fuck_ ," she moaned, more words she just couldn't keep in. They blurred into helpless whimpers and he felt her body start to tighten. He almost didn't want it to happen. Wanted to keep going all night, drive her to impossible new heights. Get lost in her fully. But in only a few more rough strokes she was coming with a wail, body clenching around him.

Wood splintered and cracked as it overwhelmed him. He pressed down on her, burying his face in her neck as she clung to him. He chased his own pleasure and she let him—but he was only a moment behind her. For a moment, everything was white and still and quiet. Dimly, he felt her stroke his hair and kiss his temple, holding him as he rode it out. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her again. How much he needed her. How he couldn't fathom how he'd handle this without her, and how alone he'd been before her. All of the things he felt maybe he didn't tell her enough. But words didn't come, so he just held on and hoped she understood.


	4. Boring Married People

Like most girls, Darcy had given a thought or two to what her wedding dress might look like. She'd expected choosing it might be a trial, knowing her. But she'd expected to have a larger selection than the current contents of her closet.

Right, okay. She was clever and fashionably inclined. She could do this, even if it trashed the bedroom to do it. She hauled out armloads of every dress she owned and laid them on the bed. Then she pulled out all the black ones, all the ones that didn't fit or were itchy and surveyed what was left.

She was sorely tempted to wiggle into the red dress 'o sex, just to see Cal's face. But it was a little indecent for a wedding dress and there was a good chance they wouldn't even make it to the court house. So back in the closet it went.

At the bottom of the pile was a filmy, multi layered cream colored dress with a pattern of red and pink roses on it that she'd gotten at a second hand shop in London that had managed to make the frantic move out here. She didn't think she'd ever worn it. London was too cold and she didn't get invited to many garden parties. But it was very pretty and very feminine and seemed like the best candidate. 

"You find something?" Darcy looked up to see Jane standing in her doorway, Sharon's fancy camera hanging around her neck.

"Think so." She held up the dress in question. "She let you borrow it?"

Jane held it up. "Indeed."

"Do you know how to operate it?"

"Hey, lenses I know. And had one of these in New Mexico. Maybe not quite this many buttons, but. . ." She shrugged.

"You made me load the film."

"This is digital."

"Even better. You approve the dress? I should probably get ready. Daylight's a-wasting."

Jane grinned. "It looks surprisingly bridal."

"Doesn't it?" She held it at arm's length to admire it. "God knows why I even bought it." She tossed it back on the bed and started to strip. "Maybe I'm latently psychic."

"You bought it because you were mad at me for getting married in pants."

"Oh, yeah." She found a bra that would fit under the dress and, miraculously, matching panties. "You and Thor should do a do-over wedding."

"Thor and I are perfectly happy, thank you."

"All right, all right." She wiggled into the dress and brushed her hair out before dabbing on a little mascara and lip gloss and settling her glasses on her face. "Come on. I want to hit a florist on the way."

"Can I have a corsage?"

"Absolutely. I'm hoping for a flower hair wreath myself."

"We'll make that happen."

She texted Cal on their way out the door and agreed to meet him at the courthouse at two, which seemed like enough time to negotiate with a florist and find something ring like that they could exchange during the ceremony. Eloping seemed like such a straightforward task until you tried to actually do it.

They found a very nice florist, who was tickled at Darcy and her last minute elopement and agreed to make her a crown, Jane a corsage and Cal a boutonnière for a relatively reasonable price. They left her to it and went down the block in search of somewhere that looked like it might sell rings.

Her phone beeped. _Got rings._

She grinned. _Excellent. No wonder I like you so much._

_I like you, too,_ Cal replied. _See you at 2._

She sent him a series of kissy-face emoticons and turned to Jane. "We have time to kill."

"Then I think you need a wedding day pedicure."

"You," she said, sliding an arm around Jane's shoulders. "Have excellent ideas."

Two o'clock on the dot, they got out of a cab in front of the courthouse. Cal was waiting on the steps, in a suit he had dug up from who knew where. Darcy's wreath was carefully pinned to her hair and she guarded it with a hand as she climbed out. She grinned when she saw him and waved, waiting for Jane to get out before hurrying over.

"I got you a boutonnière."

"You look beautiful," he said softly. "Happy wedding day."

God, she loved him so much. She hoped it always felt like this. A vague, pleasant ache in her chest when he said something sweet or she saw him after a long time apart. She tucked his flower into his button hole and pinned it. "Happy wedding day. Still sure you want to do it this way?"

"Close your eyes. Picture my family being here. Then reconsider if you need to ask that question."

"Do you think they'll tell us we're going to hell 'cause this isn't being done in church? Or was that already a given."

"It was never going to happen in a church, so it's a moot point."

She kissed his cheek lightly. "C'mon. Let's get married. Then we can start the honeymoon."

"We should probably wait until we're at least in the cab before we start stripping," he said, offering her his arm.

"We should put Jane in a different one, then." She took his arm and heard the camera shutter click as they walked up the steps to the courthouse door.

Cal had already gotten the license, so it was just a matter of waiting to the justice of the peace to be ready for them. She was oddly nervous, which was stupid. But it was a big day and a big moment and she kind of just wanted to be done with it.

"Lewis and Bennett?" the clerk called out.

They bounced to their feet in unison, making Jane chuckle. The three of them went to the clerk and followed her directions to the justice. Cal handed him the license, which he skimmed to make sure everything was in order. He peered at them over his glasses. "Do you have vows?"

Darcy looked at Cal. "Did you write any vows?"

He blinked. "Was I supposed to?"

"I certainly didn't."

The justice chuckled. "Some people write their own. It's fine if you didn't. Makes it go faster. Do you have rings."

"Yes." Cal dug them out of his pocket. "I can improv vows, by the way. If you want me to."

"People generally say something when they do the ring exchange." Darcy was very happy they had gotten a kindly, Mr. Rogers-like justice of the peace and not a grumpy "lets get on with this" kind of guy. "It can be as simple or as elaborate as you like."

Cal looked at her for a minute, then said, "It's dangerous to go alone. Take this." He held out the ring.

She laughed and took it, sliding it on her finger. He handed her his and she pondered a moment, then said, "We're all stories in the end. Let's make ours a good one."

Darcy slid the ring on Cal's finger, and he grinned and said, "I love you."

Since they were clearly having a nerd moment, she replied, "I know."

The justice said, "By the power vested in my by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife." He paused, then added, "Live long and prosper."

She gave him a little thumbs up before wrapping her arms around Cal and lifting her head for a kiss. He held her face in his hands and kissed like it was the end of the world. Which she had experienced, so she would know.

Jane cheered as she took a lot of pictures and even the justice clapped a little. When Cal let her up for air Darcy grinned and bounced on her toes. "Yay, we're married."

He grinned. "Wanna go celebrate?"

"Absolutely."

They headed out, waving at some of the other couples waiting in the hallway. Jane insisted on more pictures on the courthouse steps, showing off their rings. Then - after hugs and congratulations - she climbed into a cab to head back to the Tower and they flagged one down to take them to a hotel.

"Did we really get married?" Cal asked.

"We really did. I mean, they don't send us the paper for a week but. . . yeah. That was us. Getting married."

The cab pulled up in front of an upscale hotel. "You know by 'celebrate' I meant 'consummate', right?"

"Of course. Time to start having boring married people sex." She wove her fingers with his as they walked in. "This is Stark's place. There's an employee discount."

They walked up to the front desk and Darcy gave them their name. The woman behind the desk checked the computer, smiled and handed over a key card and envelope. "There you go. Take this and use that elevator there. You'll need to insert the card into the elevator to access your floor."

 Darcy glanced down at it and noticed it was that obnoxious red Stark liked to paint everything. "I think there's a mistake, I booked a normal room."

"You were upgraded," the woman said brightly. "No charge."

"By who?" Cal asked, even though he probably already knew.

"Mr. Stark himself. At least, that's what the authorization notes indicate."

"We are well taken care of, aren't we?" Cal asked. "Thank you," he said to the desk clerk, and slung his arm around Darcy's shoulders.

"If they're all waiting up there with a surprise party I'm going to stab a fool," she said as they used the card to get up to the higher floors. The top penthouse was Stark's apartment, technically, and they ended up on the floor just beneath it. There were two doors and their key opened the one on the left. 

To her relief, it revealed an empty, but extremely fancy living room. There was a bottle of champagne chilling next to the couch and a basket of chocolates, fruit, cheese and crackers on a side table. Darcy crossed to it and picked up the card addressed to "The Bennets"

"Jane told Pepper who told me," she read. "Elopement was absolutely the way to go. Congratulations and thanks for saving the world. The honeymoon is on me. Check your bank accounts in the morning." She looked at Cal. "It's signed, 'You know who I am.'"

Cal slid his arms around her. "He is, in fact, an excellent Grandboss."

"Yes," she agreed, tossing the card on the table. "He really is." Winding her arms around his neck she swayed with him. "Champagne now? Or after?"

He pulled her body tight against his. "After."

"Good choice." She sank her hand into his hair and tugged him down for a kiss. 

After a moment he lifted his head to wonder, "Where is the bedroom in here, anyway?"

She peered over his shoulder, then turned to look over hers. "I see two doors. Suite this size might have more than one. Shall we see which we want to christen first?"

"Brilliant." He lifted her up, and carried her to one of the doors. Behind it, however, was not a bedroom, but and office.

"Aww," Darcy said. "Boring."

"We need a bed. Married sex occurs in a bed. In missionary with the lights off."

"Yes," she agreed. "It absolutely doesn't happen bent over a desk in a ridiculously expensive hotel room."

He slid the zipper of her dress down. "We should stop, then, shouldn't we?"

The dress fluttered to the ground when she lowered her arms, leaving her in her relatively boring underwear. "I should probably duck into the powder room to make myself presentable." She turned to unbutton his shirt. "Then lay back and think of England."

He unhooked her bra, and a moment later her breasts were overflowing his hands. "You're not from England. You need to think of Cleveland."

"Wow, that's even more unsexy than England." He circled her nipples with his thumbs and she shuddered, the peaks tightening. "Couldn't we do some sort of boss and naughty secretary role-play instead?"

Cal bent his head to nibble her neck. "I assume I would be the secretary in this scenario."

"Mmm. That sounds about right." When he lifted his head she dodged around the desk and sat at the big leather chair behind it. With an arch of her back she lifted her hips and wiggled out of her underwear, keeping her heels on. They were cream peep-toes, not particularly sexy. But they actually fit the scenario better. She looked at Cal and crooked a finger. 

He came close enough to brace his hands on the chair and kiss her. "Do I still get to bend you over the desk?"

She kissed him hard, running her fingertips down his chest. "Of course. You know how I like that. I think I've mentioned it once or twice."

He slid down, kneeling between her legs and pushing them further apart. "I know everything you like."

"Yes, you do." She ran her fingers though his tangle of curls. "Because you're my husband. And my match."

He looked up at her, his eyes dark and serious for a moment. "That I am."

Swallowing around the lump in her throat, she trailed her hand down to cup his cheek, rubbing her thumb against his mouth. "I love you. Forever."

"Back ‘atcha," he replied. He kissed her thumb, and then he bent down and found something more interesting to do with his mouth.

Darcy moaned, head tipping back against the back of the chair. She closed her eyes so she could focus on the sensations, She stroked his hair, not gripping or guiding, just affectionately. As he zeroed in on her clit she began to talk, because she was her and of course she did. "God, right there. That's good. If you keep- I'm going to- Oh fuck." She moaned, heat pouring through her in sweet, shuddery waves. She felt his tongue still moving and whimpered, trying to wiggle away.

He gave her skin a smacking kiss below her navel. "I had no idea you found matrimony this hot."

"Don't knock it. Who knows what other kinks we might discover."

He leaned up to kiss her mouth, deep and messy. "Desk?"

"Mmm, yes, dear." She stood, stretched and shoved the chair back before bending and resting her hands on the desk. She glanced at him and gave her ass a little wiggle.

"God, you are so hot," he said, and then she could hear him unzipping his fly. He still had his whole suit on, which for some reason made this hotter.

"I am your hot wife," she agreed. She made a point not to look back. Anticipation made it hotter, too. "That all the men look at but only you get to touch."

"Damn right." He thrust into her, with such force her thighs bumped the desk and he nearly bottomed out. She gasped, shuffling a little to keep her balance. He gave her a moment, then when she was steady, started to move, rocking her with the force of it.

She moaned and went down on her elbows so she could brace herself better. It changed the angle and she let her head drop, thrusting back against him. "Yes, yes."

He reached beneath her to cup her breasts. "Tell me what you feel. Tell me."

"Oh," she moaned. "I feel. . . you're so deep, and hard. Every time you thrust I feel it. Like sparks shooting through me. And your hands on my nipples. It's like they're connected." She wasn't sure if she really believed in a God or greater power. But if there was something up there pulling strings she thanked it from the bottom of her heart for sending her a man that fucking _encouraged_ her to talk as they fucked. "I'm getting close," she whispered. "I can feel it. I'm throbbing."

He moved his hand down, strumming her clit with his fingertips. "Is this connected, too?"

"Oh _fuck_." She bucked against him and on the next thrust he did bottom out. That, plus the teasing on her clit, was the last thing she needed to tip over. "I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming," she whispered, over and over as she rocked and clenched, body rippling around him as he slowed his thrusts to ride it out.

He leaned over her back, bracing his arms on the desk and groaning through his last uneven thrusts before she felt the heat spread inside her. She sagged down, sprawling out on the cool wood of the desk and he came down on top of her, a familiar weight.

"Excellent consummating," she murmured when she could breathe again.

He kissed her neck. "I really think that has to be missionary to count."

She wiggled under him. "We better go find that bed, then."

"And a honeymoon destination."

"That sounds like enough to keep us busy for the afternoon."


	5. Cool Down Methods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated the Table of Contents with two new upcoming chapters.

Sharon had had every intention of sleeping in her own bunk. She was tired and sore and still a little unsettled after the battle and hearing Steve ready to go down with the ship on the comms. She wanted a good night's sleep and a little space to sort herself out. But she could tell when they reached their rooms that he didn't want to be alone. He didn't say anything, of course, because he was Steve and wouldn't ask for a glass of water if he was on fire. But she knew him well enough now to read it in the lines of his stooped shoulders and the way he looked at her when they reached their doors.

And, because she loved him even when she was irritated and was being stoic, she herded him into his room. He was half asleep on his feet, so she helped him take off this uniform top and pants because the bed was going to be crowded enough without trying to cuddle with frikking body armor. It left him in an undershirt and boxers. He climbed into bed and she stripped out of her tac gear and bra, leaving her in a tank and panties. She turned off the lights, shoved him over and squeezed into the tiny bunk with him.

He turned on his side and spooned their bodies together. He nuzzled her hair and whispered, "I'm so happy you're here."

She sighed softly, feeling a wave of relief. He was here, alive and safe, with her again. For the moment, the world didn't need him. She could let the rest of it go and enjoy those fact. So she covered his hand with hers and squeezed. "No where I'd rather be."

Behind her, she could feel him relaxing. "You remind me I'm a person and not just a soldier."

"You're my favorite person," she told him, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. "Get some sleep, it's been a hell of a week."

"Mmmm." For a moment he was silent, and his breathing slowed. Then he mumbled, "You're my favorite person, too."

She smiled and squeezed his hand again, listening to his breathing slow and even out. For her he was always going to be Steve before he was the Captain. If she had to remind him of that every day for the rest of her life she would. That's how much she loved him.  
 That was the last clear thought she had before drifting off herself. Her sleep was deep, dark and dreamless. The heavy sleep of the physically and emotionally worn out. It was early, not even eight local time and God knew what time to their bodies. It would probably take days to get their circadian rhythms back in order.

Waking up was slow, like a diver rising from the bottom of a lake. She slowly became aware of the dull hum of the carrier's engines, the warm, solid heat of Steve behind her. And the big, familiar, callused hand under her shirt, cupping her breast. His thumb was scraping back and forth across her nipple, which was peaked and sensitive. However long he'd been touching her, her body had certainly been responding even in her sleep. She could feel the cotton of her underwear clinging to her damply.

He kissed her shoulder. "Are you awake?"

"Mmm, no." She arched into his hand a little. "This is probably just a really good dream."

"So I should just ignore you?" He released her breast to slide his hand down her stomach.

She sucked in a breath, ab muscles tensing as his fingertips touched the edge of her panties. "No. Keep doing what you're doing."

"I want you," he whispered against her ear, his hand moving under the cotton, down to cup her sex. "I want to forget everything except this."

His words made her shudder. "Yes." His fingers glided against her, moving easily against her. He covered her clit with the pads of two fingers and rubbed in slow, lazy circles. Pleasure shot through her and an image of him kneeling in front of her during their night in the bunker came to her. He'd had that same single minded purpose then. Being the sole focus of Steve Rogers' attention was a heady, intense thing. "Yes," she repeated on a little moan. "Just this."

By now, he knew exactly how to touch her. He was a master of learning things and figuring out creative ways to use knowledge to his advantage. He could make sex slow and torturous, or hot and fast. He could make her beg him and claw the sheets, or he could get her off in the morning-alarm gap provided by the snooze button. She didn't know what she was in for right now.

He rolled a little, tugging her back against him and leaning back so he could work his other arm around her and cup her breast again. His fingers kept the same pace, building her pleasure like he was stoking a slow burning fire. She felt his mouth on her throat and the back of her shoulder, teeth scraping at the sensitive skin behind her ear. He was completely in control, she couldn't even touch him. She felt helpless, frustrated and somehow that made it _better_. She didn't know how he did that to her.

She tried to rock her hips, to get a little more friction, but he tugged her leg up and over his, splaying her wide open and making it almost impossible to move. "Fuck," she whimpered. "Please."

"Tell me what you want," he told her, even though he damn well knew.

"I want to come," she said immediately, because that was currently the sole point of her existence. Then, because she knew him just as well and knew exactly what buttons to push, she added, "Then I want you to fuck me until we both forget our names."

She felt him shudder behind her. It had taken her a bit of time to figure out he liked it when she talked dirty, and liked making her ask for things. But the man was _very_ good at following instructions. And just like that, the speed and pattern of his fingers moving on her picked up, suddenly a little more intense than she wanted. It was almost too much. Almost.

The fingers of his other hand plucked and rolled her nipples, keeping them hard, on the border of pain. She was stilled sprawled on him, unable to do anything but feel what he was doing to her. Her orgasm crashed through her suddenly, a wave of pleasure so intense she all but convulsed, curling inwards. She knew she cried out something, it might have been his names, or just wordless surprise. Then she wasn't aware of anything except the pleasure and the slow stroke of his fingers dragging it out.

"I love you," he told her as she calmed.

It seemed oddly disingenuous to say it considering how utterly blissed out she felt. She'd have told just about anyone she loved them at that particular moment. she turned and managed to catch his mouth in a kiss. "I love you," she murmured on his lips. "You're mine." Because at this particular moment, he was. The Cap might be waiting outside for them, but right now he was just Steve, her lover and fiancé and partner. And she loved him so much she didn't have words for it.

She could hear the happiness in his sigh. Cap could have any woman he wanted. And probably half the men while he was at it. And yet when he was just Steve, he seemed like he was awed and grateful just that she let him touch her. "You're mine, too."

"Can I touch you now?" she whispered.

He chuckled. "I'm not sure you can even turn around in his bunk."

That was actually a good point. She twisted to kiss him again, touching what she could reach, which was mostly his jaw and chest. "Like this, then? Or should we give up and try the floor?"

He hitched her leg back over his again. "That floor's gross." His voice was rough with arousal, and somehow he managed to squeeze some offended-society-matron in there. Steve was just way more interesting than Cap, too.

"We could toss a blanket down," she said, teasing. He was already shoving his boxers down and she could feel him, hard and hot against her ass. "I could be on my hands an knees," she added, hooking her fingers into her under wear and tugging it down.

"Next time," he growled, and then he pushed inside her, one hard thrust. She gasped. Sometimes she almost forgot how big he was. She wasn't excessively petite and they did have a _lot_ of sex. But then he would find a particular position or angle and she'd feel like this. Stretched and full and so, so turned on.

She arched back, angling herself to take the next thrust. She shuddered with the force of it, pressing a hand flat against her belly, as if she'd be able to feel him deep inside. He slid his hand around to cover hers, holding it there, holding her against him. Holding her where he wanted. He groaned, pressing his face into her shoulder, like it was almost too intense for him to take, either.

She'd expected hard and fast. But he moved leisurely, letting the friction and depth of his thrusts do the work. Sharon closed her eyes and got lost in it, body rocking with him. She wanted to come, she didn't want it to end. She wanted to do it a dozen more times before breakfast. Little sounds escaped her, gasps, soft moans. Helpless little noises as he drove her higher.

"Steve," she whispered. " _Steve_."

"I know," he whispered, like he did sometimes when he was taking it slow. It was how he told her she couldn't rush him, and had to just ride it out. So she did—the movement of his body and the magic his fingers began working. She couldn't rush it, and the climb back up might have been two minutes or two hours. 

When she was close, when she was shuddering and moaning and knew she either had to give in or push it away, she felt compelled to gasp, "Steve - Can I? I need-"

He knew. She didn't even have to finish the request it was hard to form the words for. He tilted her hips and changed the angle, the position letting him thrust harder. It felt, quite literally, like she exploded.

She must have screamed. She must have. There was no way to feel so much and not let it out. She soared, she floated. She was aware of nothing but his hands anchoring her to him and the steady thrust of his cock inside her, driving her climax higher even as he sought his own.

There was a long moment of stunned silence afterwards as they both gasped for air. Then he asked, "Name, rank and serial number?"

She laughed breathlessly. "No fucking clue. Missions accomplished."

He managed to tuck a blanket around them. "I don't even remember why we're in this weird midget bed."

"Mmm, I dimly recall a much nicer one back home."


	6. A Feature Not a Bug

Stark presented them with the James's new arm a week before Edie's birthday.

Presented was the correct term, too. He called Amanda and James into a meeting and had it on the conference table covered in a cloth. Which he whipped off with a flourish that had made James mutter something about Howard and flying cars. Tony had then looked at them with that kid at the school fair with his hard to please parents look he was getting more and more often and she and James had gamely inspected it. James had been touched, and she hoped Stark knew how to read "stoic assassin" well enough to tell.

It had taken both her and Stark to swap it out, with a consult from Helen Cho halfway through. But after a couple hours James had a brand new arm, with better fine motor control, closer to the natural weight of his other arm, that wouldn't snag her hair even it she wrapped it around his wrist.

She left the boys for go over features in an effort to finish up the work she'd neglected while helping them. As a result she got home late to find James feeding a decidedly sleepy looking Edie a bottle.

He looked up at her. "I can tickle her with it," he said, sounding like a kid on Christmas morning.

That might explain why the baby looked so sleepy. Amanda walked over to kiss him and stroke a hand over Edie's mop of dark curls. "I can see you'll continue to be the favorite parent."

He reached up to stroke a metal finger over her arm. "Could probably tickle you, too."

She shivered a little and resisted the urge to nuzzle at him. "Well. . . keep up your nap whisperer thing and maybe we can have some special grown-up time."

His smile was particularly wicked. "Yes, ma'am."

After another little snuggle for Edie, she went to get a snack and change out of her lab clothes. She didn't work with anything hazardous but there was a certain smell that lingered on your clothes when you worked anywhere that required lab coats.

She heard James bring Edie up to her room, murmuring quietly to her. Something about turning one soon and the big party she was going to have, with all her aunts and uncles and cousins. Amanda smiled softly to herself, brushing her hair out of the braid it had been in. 

A few minutes later, he appeared in their bedroom doorway. "She sleeps."

"Congratulations on a successful mission." He came up behind her and wrapped both arms around her waist. She leaned into him with a sigh. Between the move and her new responsibilities sometimes it felt like ages since they'd had time alone together. "I've missed you," she murmured, turning her head to nuzzle at him, hoping he understood.

He moved so he could kiss her. "Come help me test drive my new arm."

She sank into his kiss a moment, running a hand down said arm. "How's the sensation?"

A shiver passed through him, she could see and feel it. "Good."

Grinning, she backed him towards they bed. "Goodness, that is better, isn't it?"

"It's better in a lot of ways." He lifted it, and plunged the metal hand into her hair, tilting her head so he could kiss her urgently.

In the past when he would use his metal hand on her hair - usually while distracted during a particularly enthusiastic blow job - it would tangle and catch, effectively halting the proceedings until it could be removed. Now, other than being a bit harder and cooler where it scraped her scalp, it felt no different than his flesh and blood hand.

It was Amanda's turn to shiver, sinking into him and the kiss. She'd always been willing to take the downsides of the hand as par for the course in loving him. Had, quietly and non-creepily, found it kind of sexy. Getting to keep the sexy metal arm with all the benefits of a normal hand, that was quite exciting.

His right hand found it's way under her shirt. "I want you naked," he murmured against her mouth.

"That can be arranged." She leaned back so he could yank the thin t-shirt off. In retrospect, she should have just put on a robe or something after getting out of her work clothes. It had seemed oddly presumptuous at the time. And an invitation for Edie to start squalling.

She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her sweatpants and shoved them down as well, leaving her naked as he'd requested. He grinned, and yanked his shirt over his head. Then he herded her with his body, backing her towards the bed.

She had no choice but to climb up on it, scooting back to give him room. One thing she had to give him, James had been utterly unfazed by her post-baby body. Their first time after Edie had been as enthusiastic as any before. And when he'd caught her muttering about her stretch marks in the mirror he'd made a point to kiss every one.

He still, somehow, thought she was gorgeous.

And right now, he was giving her that Christmas morning smile. "Check this out," he said. He flattened his metal palm on her lower belly, just above her c-section scar. He moved his fingers up and down in what seemed like a pattern, and then his hand. . .vibrated.

She squeaked, jerking at the sensation. "What-?" He fidgeted his fingers again, covering her clit and the thrum of it shot through her. Tipping her head back, she sucked in a breath, "God."

"Good?" he whispered.

Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded frantically. He moved his fingers back and forth a fraction of an inch and she found herself rocking her hips. She realized she'd closed her eyes and forced them open to find him staring at her, eyes dark and intense.

She swallowed hard. "Try - try inside."

"Watch this," he replied. He sank two fingers into her, curving them upwards. His thumb settled back against her clit, and she felt the vibrations in both places.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," she breathed, earning her that Christmas morning grin again.

It was right on the border of too intense. If the vibrations had been out of sync at all it might have tipped over that way. But it was just perfect, the sensations blending together, spiraling her higher. She reached out, gripping his shoulder, wanting to be closer to him, and he obliged by leaning in and kissing her, hot and urgent as she rocked on his fingers. "Come for me, 'Manda," he whispered against her mouth.

She tangled her hand in his hair and gave into it, shuddering as she came. She could feel herself pulsing against his fingers, hard and hot inside her, still stroking slightly as she rode out the orgasm.

When she opened her eyes, he was looking at his metal hand and grinning.

"I can't believe he put in a vibrating attachment," she muttered, but there was no venom in it. That had been pretty awesome.

"The man is a master inventor."

"He is." She tangled her fingers through his hair and tugged him down for a kiss. "Thank you. That was incredible."

He nuzzled her. "I shouldn't take all the credit, but I am anyway."

"I'll allow it."

He cupped one of her breasts with the metal hand. "So you like the new arm?"

The touch was much gentler and more sure than it had been in the past. He used just the right pressure when circling her nipple with the thumb. "I very much like the new arm. I might even be nice to Stark for a while, just to freak him out."

"I believe I intend to spend all night tormenting you with it."

"Do I need a safe word?" she teased, running her fingertips along the metal again. 

He closed his eyes. "That feels as good as if it was my skin."

"Is that so?" She kissed the line of his jaw, then tugged his hand off her breast and brought it up to her mouth. She kissed his palm, then his knuckles, then took one of his fingers in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. She could taste herself on the metal.

His eyes fluttered closed. "I can't believe how real that feels."

She switched to his other hand, for the sake of symmetry, then leaned in to kiss his mouth. "Sounds like we'll both have fun with it."

He groaned. "God, I love you."

"I love you, too." She tugged his lower lip between her teeth. "My safe word is amygdala."

"You're such a nerd," he told her. He sat up so he could yank off his pants—he was still half dressed.

Scooting farther back on the bed, she made a show of watching him strip. "You knew that when you met me."

"And I put up with you anyway." He took his pants off as well. His body, she didn't fail to notice, had remained completely perfect.

That was something she was going to need to come to terms with, she supposed. He would likely age to some degree, but she sincerely doubted he had to worry about the middle aged spread any time soon.

Now naked, he climbed onto the bed with her, looming over her like some sort of pagan god.

She was never going to complain about her perfect husband.

He draped her legs over his thighs, spreading her wide. "I want you," he growled, his eyes dark.

The words sent a shudder through her. She did love when he got a little feral. Letting her fingers wander his arm again, she said, "Come here and fuck me, then." He groaned again, and he tucked a hand under her ass to lift her as he pushed inside her.

She moaned at the feel of his stretching her and let her head fall back so she could savor it. He was still more or less upright, while she was laying flat. It gave them both excellent views and she forced her head up so she could watch him move. The muscles in his abdomen flexed and stretched as his hips rocked.The visual, plus the slow firm strokes, had her breathing hard and arching in no time. She watched him flex the fingers on his metal hand in the pattern she recognized as turning the vibe on, She clenched around him in anticipation, and then he brought it to touch her. 

It was even better this time. His thrusts didn't waiver, and she had to drop her head back again, overwhelmed by the sensations. Fisting the covers beneath her, she bucked up into his touch. She could feel her muscles clenching again, just before the waves of pleasure started to pour through her. He cursed under his breath, kind of a desperate sound. He pounded into her as she rode it out, and shuddered over her just as she started to drift back down.

To her relief he moved his hand away, so she could relax. He shifted to settle next to her and she rolled to curl closer to him. "Love you," she murmured.


	7. Thor's Adventures in Babysitting

Living in New York was a bit of an adjustment, but Thor had quickly grown to love both the city, and the denizens of the tower. He did miss his wife, though. Jane was traveling a lot on a lecture circuit, so he saw far less of her than he wanted. 

He was delighted when she called to tell him she'd managed to clear a couple of days. "We could go somewhere," he told her. "A small vacation."

Jane made a noise that he knew meant she was wrinkling her nose. "No hotels. I'm done with hotels. I just want to come home and lock ourselves in." She paused, and her voice lowered. "I don't want to have to worry about breaking the bed."

He laughed. That sincerely sounded like valhalla. "Understood and I agree. Fly safe, I love you and I can't wait to see you." He needed to stock the fridge and clean the shower. Particularly clean the shower. The last time whatever product he'd used had give her a skin rash. "JARVIS?" he asked after he hung up. "What does Jane use to clean the bathroom?" 

"I have not scanned its contents," he replied, "But the bottle is under the sink."

Thor found the bottle, but no sponges. He supposed he could use paper towels, but it seemed wasteful, and might leave smears. Violet Marsh kept a very tidy house, he was sure she’d have cleaning supplies he could borrow. He strode over to the front door and opened it, startled to find Violet on the other side, hand raised to knock.

She smiled, lowering her hand. Violet always smiled, no matter how poorly her day was going. Though Thor had started to notice there was one particular smile she used when she was at the end of her tether and ready to snap. His mother had had a very similar one, especially when he and Loki were young. "Hi, are you on your way out?"

He smiled. "Only to come over and ask you about borrowing cleaning supplies." He stepped back, indicating that she could come in.

"Oh." She looked a little confused by that but shook her head and moved on. "Sorry, I can't stay. I'm looking for someone to watch Ada for a while."

"Of course." Even though Jane might kill him. Violet wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. "Is something the matter?"

She sighed. "Neil's running a high fever, I think he's got an ear infection. I checked downstairs, but Amanda is in DC doing something with her serum study and she took Tiffani with her. None of the other techs are allowed in the pharmacy or have authority to call in prescriptions. So I need to take him to urgent care and get him checked out." She shook her head. "Living here I almost forgot how hard it is when a kid gets sick. Anyway, it may only take an hour, but since I don't have an appointment it could go all afternoon."

"I am happy to watch Ada." He and Jane looked after the Marsh children with some regularity, but he'd never done it without Jane before. He found handling Neil easier, and Ada got on better with Jane. But he was sure it would be fine.

Violet's relief was visible. "Great. Thank you. And whenever I get back I will help you with whatever cleaning you needed."

He opened his mouth to tell her that he didn't need help cleaning and just needed to borrow a sponge, but she was already on her way back to her apartment. Thor followed her, and reached the door in time for Ada to be stepping into the hallway, clutching an iPad.

"Hi," she said, craning her neck back to look at him. "Mom's in a state."

"It is probably very stressful when your brother is ill." He held out a hand to her. "Jane is not home yet, so it's just you and me."

"Okay." She took his hand. "Are we going to do anything fun?"

"Of course," he replied immediately, then added, "What do you find fun?"

She considered a moment. Ada was always very thoughtful, carefully considering things before she said them. "Learning new things," she finally said. "And swinging so high on the swing set it feels like I'm flying."

He stopped and looked down at her. "How would you feel about actually flying?"

Her eyes got very wide and she said in a rush, "I would like that very much."

"Come then. I will braid your hair so it doesn't blow in your eyes, and we can decide where to fly to." She squeezed his hand a skipped a bit as they walked to his apartment.

One of the stranger differences between Asgardian and current Midgardian culture—to Thor, at least—was how _so_ many seemingly random things were very strictly assigned to genders. Most Midgardian men cut their hair short, and if they didn't, they didn't take care of it. That was "manly". Long, styled or braided hair was womanly. Thor really didn't understand. He had really paid attention to it until the first time he braided Jane's hair, and the other women made a big deal out of it.

He also really didn't understand why variances in skin tone were a problem, but hair color was not. Why some facial feature differences were bad, but others were ignored. He'd lived here for years now, you'd think it would eventually make sense.

Ada sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him once he'd gotten a brush and hair ties. He'd braided her hair numerous times before, when she was visiting with him and Jane. The elaborateness depended on her mood. "How many braids?" he asked her.

"Two," she said definitively. Then, "Wait." She turned to look at him. "How do ladies in Asgard wear it?"

"However they desire. One braid, no braids, many braids."

Her mouth twisted in thought, then she turned away again. "Two."

"Then two you shall receive. Please hold still." He brushed and braided her hair quickly. She had previously complimented him on his speed. Apparently, her mother was slow.

When he was done, he got her a drink of juice she requested and then it was time to chose a destination. "How far can we go?" Ada asked. "I'd like to go somewhere I've never been."

"I can go anywhere. It's mostly a matter of how long you wish to be in the air. It is rather cold."

She frowned. "I don't like to be cold." After a moment's consideration she asked, "How long does it take to go to Asgard?"

"To Asgard we travel by Bifrost. It is a unique experience, though some find it disconcerting."

"I don't get car sick," she offered.

Given her interest in astronomy, she would most likely love the view off the Bifrost. And, Heimdal was as impossible to stump with questions as JARVIS. He wondered briefly if he should check with her mother before taking her to another realm, but really—what was the harm?

"Very well," he told her. "But we must go to the park to travel."

"Okay." She bounced to her feet. "Do I need a coat or anything?"

"No. It is nice out." He stood. "Are you ready?"

She nodded. "Whenever you are." He took her hand again and walked her out to the elevators to head to the park the mundane way.

Thor found them a clearing, and lifted her up onto his hip. "All right, little one. Hold on." He tilted his head back. "Heimdal?" he called.

There was a flash and then they were surrounded by the blaze of the Bifrost. Ada squeaked and tightened her arms around him as they rushed upwards. Halfway through she started making a high pitched noise that he was afraid was screaming. Then they stepped out of the gate in Asgard and he realized it was an excited squeal of some sort.

"That was awesome," she said when he put her down. She bounced on her feet. "I mean really awesome. I want to do it again. How come you've never done that with me before? Why are there rainbows? Are we moving faster than light? Why doesn't it feel windy?" She stopped abruptly when she saw Heimdal. Her hands went behind her back and she said politely, "Hello."

He case an amused look at Thor, and then said, "Hello, Ada. I am Heimdal, Asgard's gatekeeper."

"It's nice to meet you. Thank you for letting me visit."

Heimdal crouched down, and patiently explained the mechanics of the bifrost, which included a detour about wormholes and Einstein. "You are a very unusual child," he told her.

"My teacher put that on my last assessment. Mom said it was a compliment."

He turned the dials so a better view was available through the portal, and said, "You might want to turn around and have a look." A view of the entire galaxy was now laid out before her. Her jaw dropped and she stepped closer to the edge, but not so close Thor was nervous about her falling. She was a smart girl.

He watched her a moment, then looked up at Heimdal. "How fares it?"

"All is well. Your father is well. Though. . ." he trailed off, glancing at Ada. "The king seems to have a . . . lady."

Thor's brows went up. "A - ah - _special_ lady?"

"So I am hearing. He's always hid himself from me during his private endeavors, but the rumors are strong."

He wasn't entirely sure what he thought of that. This was not the time to go talk to him about it, though. "Well," he said, hopefully diplomatically. "I'm sure there are many court ladies of a certain age who would be happy to receive his attentions."

Heimdal cleared his throat. Thor had literally never seen him look this uncomfortable before. "The lady in question is actually not of the Asgard court. She is a queen of another realm. Alfheim.”

Thor paused a moment. “Isn’t the queen of Alfheim my age?”

After a pause, Heindal corrected, “A bit younger, actually.” 

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Thor took a deep breath. Definitely a conversation for another day. "That's. . . interesting."

"If you would like a full earful, you should speak to Lady Sif."

He chuckled. "I imagine she would feel strongly about it."

"Can we visit one of the worlds out there?" Ada asked.

They both looked back at her. "Not today," Thor said. "But perhaps another. Not all of them can be reached by the Bifrost."

"I want to visit lots of planets," she told them sincerely.

"You have many years to do so," he assured her.

She turned her big eyes on him. "You promise?"

Violet had told him, early on, to always be honest with Ada. So he said, "Not as many years as I, but still, quite a few. You will see amazing things, I'm sure."

"Humanity is nowhere near faster than light travel," she informed him. "If I'm going to visit other planets, you have to take me. So, do you promise?"

He glanced at Heimdal for help, who pointedly looked elsewhere, indicating he was on his own. He crouched down to Ada's height. "I promise. If it's all right with your mother."

She reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Thank you."

He hugged her carefully. "You're very welcome. Now, is there anything else you'd like to see while we're here?"

"Does Asgard have a library?"

And so, in what would have been a nightmare for Thor in his youth, they spent a good deal of the afternoon in the royal library. Ada appeared to be in heaven, climbing ladders and twisting stairs to poke in every nook and cranny.

When it became about time for Jane to arrive back in New York, he rounded her up. She was disappointed that she didn't get to check any books out. "Do you bring Aunt Jane here?" she asked, reaching for his hand.

"She's come here, on occasion. Not for very long. She and my father. . . got off on the wrong foot."

"Is he an old fart? Mom says Grandma is an old fart, when she thinks I'm not listening."

Thor choked a little. "He's king of the realm and. . . opinionated."

"So like Mr. Stark?"

"Very much like Mr. Stark, actually." He swung their arms as they reached the bridge to the Bifrost gate. "Did you have a good time?"

"I did. Asgard is fun. It's like a fairy tale, only shinier."

He rather liked that description. They reached the gate and Ada said a very polite goodbye to Heimdal, who nodded. "You are welcome anytime, Miss Ada."

"Can I call you and you'll send the big light thing for me?" she asked excitedly.

"Perhaps someday."

"I'm sure Jane will be home and have many exciting things to tell us," Thor boomed. "Heimdal, please?"

Ada shrieked with joy as they were sucked through the Bifrost. They walked home from the park, the little girl skipping again as they went. As they approached the Tower, he could see Violet struggling get Neil out of a cab. "Hi Mom!" she yelled.

Violet looked up, and Neil used the opportunity to make a break for it. Thor reached down and caught him with one arm, lifting him up. "Careful, little man."

He stared at Thor a moment, looking rather miserable. Then he stuck his lower lip out and said, "So sad."

"I am sorry," he said sincerely. He shifted him so Neil could rest his head on his shoulder, and rubbed his back. He hummed a little and the deep baritone sound seemed to sooth the child. He sighed and slumped against him.

Violet was holding Ada's hands while the little girl babbled on about her day. "Hang on," she said eventually. "You got to go to Asgard?"

Thor winced, holding open the lobby doors with his free hand. Perhaps he should have asked first, before taking this woman's child to another realm. 

"They have the biggest library I've ever seen. It has magic books. And I saw the whole universe." 

"Did you get to bring any of the books home?" she asked cautiously.

"Thor didn't think it was a good idea."

"Well, I think I agree with him." She glanced up at him and looked more amused than upset. "Did you thank him for taking you on a trip?"

"Thank you!" she said enthusiastically as they got into the elevator.

He hit the button for their floor. "You are very welcome."

"Heimdal the gatekeeper said I could come back and Thor promised to take me to other planets."

Violet looked up at him and he offered what he hoped was a placating smile. "With your permission of course."

"We'll talk about it later," she told Ada.

Neil had begun to snore, and so he found himself saying, "I have some time until Jane gets home. I don't mind taking them back up to my apartment if you'd like a little time to yourself." 

Her brows went up. "Are you sure?"

"I would not make an offer I did not intend to see through."

She glanced down at Ada, then the little boy sleeping on his shoulder. "A few minutes of peace and quiet would be nice."

"Very well, then. Feel free to take your time." The door opened on her floor and gestured that she should get exit.

After kissing Ada's head, Violet cast him another grateful look and went to her apartment. He took the children upstairs, and settled on the couch with a still-sleeping Neil. Ada busied herself getting into Jane's books.

They had not moved when Jane came home half an hour later.

He smiled a lifted a hand. "Welcome home."

Ada jumped up to run over and hug Jane. "Thor took me to Asgard!"

"Did he? Did you meet Heimdal?" They chattered excitedly for a while, about the stars and the library and the braids he'd put in Ada's hair. Ada had clearly had fun with him, but she adored Jane. And Jane adored her right back.

He watched them, and felt that same familiar ache. He should be able to give her children.

Jane had brought Ada presents, including a star chart. Ada promptly took over the kitchen table with it and Jane came to join him on the couch. He shifted Neil onto the cushions and kissed her. "It's good to have you home."

"Looks like you had a fun day." 

"We did. Neil is ill and Violet requested my aid. And, fortunately, did not seem upset at my decision to take Ada off world."

Across from them, Neil opened his eyes. He looked disoriented for a moment, then saw and smiled at Jane. He wiggled his fingers in a wave, she waved back, and he buried his face in the cushions coyly before looking at her again. The he scrambled up and dashed off. A moment later Ada shrieked in protest.

Thor craned his neck to keep an eye on them. "Also, I think my father is shagging a woman younger than I."

Jane had followed Neil's progress, but turned her head swiftly to look at Thor. "What?"

"Heimdal told me. I am. . . horrified." 

"Why? He's a grown man, he deserves some companionship."

"Yes, but. . ."

"But nothing! It's healthier for him to have someone than for him to be alone."

He could not think of a reply to that. She was right. He ought to be happy for him. "It makes me uncomfortable," he told her.

"Our parents having sex lives usually does. Remember when my mom started dating that dentist? Darcy had to remind me to eat for a week."

He remembered. He'd told her sex was normal and people had needs. "I did not understand that one. There's no circumstance I can fathom where I would fail to eat."

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "It just slips my mind."

"Mrs. Marsh is at your door," JARVIS said.

"Tell her to come in," Thor told the ceiling.

He couldn't quite see the door, but he did hear Neil's excited shriek of, "Ma! Ma!"

"Hello, little man," Violet said. A moment later she appeared in view, holding the little boy. "Hello Jane, welcome home."

"Thank you. It's nice to sit on my own couch."

"I understand completely. Ada! Ready to go?"

"Two more minutes?" she called back.

"Ada, those are yours to take with you," Jane told her. She glanced at Thor, then to Violet said, "Thor's father has a girlfriend." 

Violet's brows went up. "Isn't he literally five thousand?"

"Yes, but for them that's more like. . . seventies."

"Huh." She glanced at Thor. "Is it weirding you out?"

His voice sounded petulant to his own ears. "Yes."

"How long was he married to your mother?"

"Over four thousand years."

"So like the equivalent of getting married in his early twenties?" He nodded. "He probably doesn't know how to function without a woman in his life. If my mom went before Dad he'd be utterly lost. No idea what brand of cereal to buy or when his doctors appointments were. Your father probably needs someone to remind him to take the Asgardian equivalent of his blood pressure pills."

She did have a point. Much as he didn't like it.

"Mo-om," Ada whined, having packed up and now wanting to go home. 

"Right. Thank you again, Thor," Violet said with a little nod. "I owe you one."

"It was honestly my pleasure."

She smiled and kissed Neil's head and lead the kids out, closing the apartment door behind her. Thor turned back to Jane and tugged her close. "Now then. How shall I properly welcome you home?"

Hours later, she convinced him to clean the shower while she made them some dinner. She gave him a bottle that smelled like salad dressing, and put chicken on the stove. He emerged from the bathroom to find her hopping on one foot. "Thor. Please don't just leave your hammer in the living room."

"I didn't. I placed it in its spot." He had a particular place near the bedroom door, tucked out of the way."

She pointed. "I just stubbed my toe getting a cookbook."

He went into the living room, and sure enough, Mjolnir was sitting at the base of the book case. On the shelf, here was a gap in the books where an astronomy text had been pulled out. Ada must have done it, despite it being at least six inches beyond her reach.

Thor stared at the book case, then looked down at Mjolnir for a full minute.

"Something wrong?" Jane asked.

He picked the hammer up, and returned it to it's proper spot. "Not at all," he replied. I must have left it here. Apologies for your toe." He eyed the hammer again. He'd contemplate that later. "How about I set the table?"

She didn't look entirely convinced, but she nodded. "Dinner should be ready soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. That is as close to a Syn cameo in the Tales Universe as you're getting :) We like to think in this Universe they're doing a fun Masquerade-esque "let's be bad guys" think together.
> 
> And Ada is totally worthy. Especially when all she wants Mjolnir for is a foot stool.


	8. Peace, Quiet, and Breakfast Treats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be the last chapter here for a while. We've run out of short stuff and are hard at work on a couple of full length things. Once of which I hope to have ready by Christmas, but no promises.

For someone who liked privacy and to be alone, Clint had spent a surprisingly large portion of his life living with other people. First his parents, then a smattering of foster homes before joining the service to escape it all. There was no privacy in the army, other than what he made himself. He'd lived on SHIELD bases and dingy apartments on and off, depending on what was more convenient at the time. Then the Tower.

He liked the Tower the best, even if there were a lot of people and there were occasional crazy AIs and explosions.

He'd never, ever, lived somewhere he routinely woke up to fresh baked goods. Nat had improved her cooking dramatically, but she stuck to basics and then mostly when she was bored in the afternoons. She woke with the sun, but felt breakfast any more complicated than eggs, bacon and toast needed to be purchased from a reputable chef. Clint could eat nails and had never complained about a meal someone else had cooked him, so it suited him fine.

Where on earth two orphans had learned to make elaborate breakfasts full of baked goods was beyond him. But ten days after everyone had resettled in the Tower after the defeat of Ultron, Clint and Nat woke to the sound of Sokovian bickering and the smell of cinnamon and butter. 

"Are they fighting? I can't tell."

Nat rolled onto her back with a groan, listening for a moment. "He's eating all the frosting."

"Frosting? What are they making?"

"Based on the smell I'm guessing cinnamon rolls, but there's really only one way to find out."

He reached under the covers to take her hand. "I feel like this experience might remind us why, exactly, we don't have children."

"Hmm." She curled towards him. "As long as they don't come bouncing on the bed at 5am on Christmas I think we'll manage."

Clint kissed her, and then climbed out of bed, scrounging for some pajama pants and a t-shirt to put on. Out in the main part of the apartment, London was sitting on the top of the cat tree watching the kitchen goings-on with suspicion.

Pietro was by the stove, stirring something, while Wanda smeared white frosting over a mound of something brown and sticky looking on a plate. They both looked over at him with vaguely guilty expressions. "Did we wake you?" she asked.

"Not at all." He came into the the kitchen are. "Cinnamon rolls?"

"Not quite. It's something our mother used to make." She glanced over at Pietro and they exchanged a few words before she looked back. "I think it's called puzzle bread. You pull off bits of it. Very sticky and messy, but yummy."

"Oh, good. For a moment I thought I was going to have to mention how badly you'd messed up the 'roll' part."

She blinked, then laughed brightly - almost a giggle. He was pretty sure he'd never heard her laugh before. "Pietro is making frittata," she said, gesturing at him and his mixing bowl. "He likes breakfast."

"Doc said I needed lots of calories to heal," her brother said defensively.

"Both the supersoldiers eat like that. As does Thor. Sharing a meal with Thor is almost frightening if he's really hungry." 

"At least I won't be alone." He put the bowl down and went to the fridge. "Be ready in a few minutes."

"Thank you for breakfast." He watched Pietro whisk the eggs, his hand moving so fast Clint couldn't even see it.

"He likes to cook," Wanda said conspiratorially. "He's getting stir crazy."

"You're not confined to the Tower, you know. You can go explore New York City."

The twins exchanged a glance. "It makes us a little nervous," Pietro admitted. 

"It's loud," Wanda added.

"That's certainly true. But there's also anonymity in it. You may eventually find the city sounds like white noise."

"She means mentally," Pietro said as Wanda took her empty frosting bowl to the sink. "Too many minds pressing in on her."

"I'm sure I will get used to it."

"That I understand. I mean, not like you do, but. . ." He leaned on the counter. "How big is your range?"

She tilted her head. "Passively, this apartment and most of the one next door. If I'm trying much farther."

"There are places we could go, not very far from here, where you could have absolute silence. If that's something you'd like from time to time."

The look on her face when she turned to look at him was downright adoring. "That would be very helpful."

"Name the day."

Her reply was immediate. "Perhaps tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow works. Now let me try some of that weird cake you're making." She beamed and gestured towards it.

He was still sucking cream cheese frosting off his fingers when Nat strolled out of the bedroom, hair damp from a shower. "That smells fantastic."

"It tastes even better." He pulled off a hunk and held it out to her.

She bit it out of his hand and hummed in appreciation as she chewed. "We should have gotten a wife years ago."

That made Clint laugh. "We're going upstate tomorrow," he told her. 

"All of us?" she asked, wandering to the coffee pot. 

"We couldn't figure out how it worked," Pietro admitted when she scowled at the empty carafe. That made Nat chuckle and she waved him over to show him.

"Wanda and I. Pietro if he wants. You are probably optional," Clint said.

Nat looked up at Pietro. "You want to go up or stay here and see the city?"

"Could we go clothes shopping?" He plucked at the shirt he was wearing which Clint was guessing was borrowed from Tony - or maybe Cal.

"If that's how you want to spend the day we can make that happen."

Clint had to admit, this did feel weirdly parental. "There we are, then."

And so bright and early the next morning, though still after a hearty breakfast, he and Wanda headed upstate in a dark SUV while Nat and Pietro ventured out into the city to shop.

Wanda stared silently out the window as they drove, which Clint appreciated. Anyone who could sit in non-awkward silence for extended periods of time earned bonus points with him. He did notice she visibly relaxed as they got farther from the crowds.

"There's a cabin on the property. It's kind of a shack, really. But I'm happy to leave you there and go do my shooting and come back for you later."

She nodded, then turned to look at him. "Can I watch you shoot?"

"You. . . sure. You want to?"

"If it won't bother you. You don't think loudly and I think watching something repetitive would be soothing."

"I do not mind at all. As long as you don't talk."

"I won't talk," she said quietly, with a little smile. "I like the quiet."

She was true to her word, she sat quietly while he lined up his shots, while he sat motionless and stared through his scope for an interminable amount of time. It wasn't an awkward, heavy silence, either.

He kind of liked this girl.

When she did speak, she waited until he was reloading, which he also appreciated. "When did you start?"

He looked over at her. "Start what?"

"Shooting. Sniping. It must take a long time to get this good."

"At this distance it's mostly math. I also have eyesight that borders on superhuman. I learned archery as a kid, but I didn't fire my first gun until I joined the military."

"You were very natural with the bow," she said. "In Sokovia. Even if you were fighting an army of robots."

That made him smile. "I was really freaked out by that. That whole day was just. . . surreal. The flying city and the robots and Nat had been kidnapped and Steve wouldn't let me go find her. . ." He glanced over. "And then there were you two. Your brother was seriously a pain in my ass." 

She rolled her eyes expressively. "You should have seen him as a teenager."

He watched her a moment. "I thought you were very brave."

"It didn't feel brave," she said, face falling. "I was. . .terrified. Captain Rogers said that's what made it brave. I suppose he would know."

"I was afraid, too. We all were. Being the last line of defense between earth and annihilation. It's why Stark made Ultron in the first place. But it was my job, so I did it. And so did you."

She nodded slowly and he got the feeling she didn't entirely believe him, but was trying to. "I have a lot to make up for. I know there are people on the team who don't trust me. Pietro and I talked about leaving. But I no longer trust my judgement. I don't want to end up on the wrong side again."

"A lot of us have messy pasts. Most of us. We've done wrong, we've done damage. My encounter with the scepter caused me to help a deranged Norse God nearly take over the planet. Nat and Barnes were assassins for the side of evil. SHIELD was full of Hydra. Thor tried to start an interplanetary war. Stark sold weapons to terrorists—and made Ultron. You've seen what the Hulk can do. We all have guilt and shame."

He'd given her a pair of binoculars when he'd started shooting. She now started fidgeting with them. "It's hard when I can feel them not trusting me."

"They'll come around. And I promise you, they're worth the effort."

She nodded again. "Thank you. I'm sorry, I distracted you."

"This is worthy conversation."

That got him a bit of a smile. "This was nice. Coming up here."

"I'll get you a key to the gate, you can come up anytime you'd like."

"I'd like that, thank you."


	9. The Fake Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Clint and Nat's trip to Hawaii in 2010. Trimmed from the original story for flow/pacing reasons. Set immediately after (or a continuation of) Chapter 10 of Best Mistake I Never Made. Rating: T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of us was on vacation in Hawaii, so we kept writing about them in Hawaii, but had to trim for the story. So this might be the first actual genuinely deleted scene.
> 
> Dug up, edited, and posted because someone sent me (Olives) a lovely compliment & ask on tumblr asking about Clintasha things. (The "I" talking in the notes is otherwise almost universally Nyx, because she does all the posting stuff 'cause she's awesome.)

They got back to the hotel and fooled around for a while, then ordered room service because neither of them felt like getting dressed. "Tomorrow I want to go swimming," Clint told her.

"Well, the ocean is that way," Nat said, gesturing vaguely towards the windows.

"Not much one for the ocean?"

"I prefer to lounge beside it and sun."

He grinned at her, enjoying picturing her in a bathing suit. "I think Tash Bartlett is the type to go swimming with her new husband."

She laughed and stretched extravagantly. "I suppose she could be convinced."

They were eating their dinner on the very same couch they'd fucked on the night before. He looked down at it pointedly. "There are many methods of persuasion."

"You know all my favorite ones, too," she said, licking sauce off her knuckle.

He touched the plastic spiderweb on her arm. "That's one hell of a cast."

She held it up, turning it this way and that. "Latest tech. Supposed to cut recovery time in half."

"Does your arm hurt?"

Shrugging, she looked back at her dinner. "Aches on and off. Over the counter stuff takes care of it."

"Warm water might feel nice," he said. "Warm salt water, even."

"Are you sure it's warm? People always say oceans are warm but they never live up to it."

"If it's not, you'll know by the time it reaches your ankles." He reached out, wrapping a curl around his fingers. The humidity made them particularly riotous. "Have I ever lied to you?"

Tipping her head back, she pretended to think about it. Or maybe she was actually thinking about it. Nat had a freaky memory sometimes. Finally, she nodded. "No, I don't believe you have."

"Then trust me that the water will most likely be plenty warm, and I won't make you get in if it's not."

"Then perhaps I will take a dip. If it will make you happy."

He leaned over to kiss her cheek. "It will."

She watched him a moment. "Is there some sort of fantasy I'm fulfilling here? Venus in the clam shell? I just want to know expectations."

He gave her a look. "Hot woman dripping wet on a beach is not exactly a bizarre or even particularly original thing for a guy to like."

"I'm just checking," she said defensively, poking at the remains of her meal. "Ferreting out the kinks before they surprise me."

"It's not a kink. It's not any sort of sex thing, really. I enjoy the ocean. I like enjoying things with you."

She seemed to ponder that a moment. Then she put her plate aside and shifted to lean on him, draping herself on the couch. "I don't have anything like that." A pause. "Well. I like you in a tuxedo."

"You have things you like," he told her. It didn't surprise him that she'd said it, though. She often had trouble separating herself from her various personas. He wondered if she feared what Stark had said about her was true. That there wasn't anything real about her. "Your characters always have the same taste in lingerie. You like your food sweet, your booze cheap and your meat bleeding. Closest I've ever heard you get to breaking cover is that time you had to turn down Kobe beef because you were supposed to be a vegetarian."

That got a little groan. "Real Kobe, too. Not the fake US crap."

"You like trashy novels you think I don't notice because they aren't in English. You like having things neurotically organized by what I can only assume is the dewey decimal system." When she opened her mouth, perhaps to protest, he said, "When we spent a week in Beirut you color coded the yogurt in the fridge."

Her lips pursed. "It was by sweetness of flavor."

He grinned at that. "As it should be."

She resettled on his shoulder. "I like to establish order where I can. Life is very chaotic. And they aren't all trashy novels."

"If the description on the back contains Russian words I know—considering the circumstances you speak Russian to me—the number of subject the book might be about is fairly limited."

"Hmph. Sometimes you're too clever for my own good."

He kissed the top of her head. "I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable."

"No. I know. And I am glad to know I have specific enough wants and needs for you to have noticed. They don't occur to me. I'm too close to see the pattern."

"There are plenty of things about you that are real."

"My hair color," she said brightly.

He tipped her chin up so she'd look him in the eye. "I know you."

"You're the only person in the world who does," she said softly.

"I'm okay with that," he said with a smile, and leaned down to kiss her. She curled her arms around his neck, stroking his hair as she kissed him back. "Come to bed and teach me more Russian?" he asked.

She grinned and slid off the couch, holding a hand out to him.

*

They ate breakfast at the restaurant downstairs, and then Clint went for a run, leaving her alone to contemplate the bathing suits she's brought. There were two one pieces, a black functional one and a red and white one with lots of cleavage and cut outs. There was also a red and black two piece that a significant wave would probably dislodge. She knew which one Clint would prefer, but still she hesitated.

The scar had more or less become part of her. She knew Clint didn't mind it, nor really see it any more. Other people would almost certainly stare. Of course, people staring at her in a bathing suit wasn't exactly new, but it was usually for better reasons.

Still, what did all of those people matter if Clint stared at her like a steak dinner.

Tilting her chin up , she grabbed the two piece and started slipping it on. She was just pulling on her coverup when she heard the suite door open and close. "I stuck tested the water and it's quite warm," he called.

"Any waves?" she asked, tying her sarong on.

"Very mild. There's a reef offshore." He came into sight, shirtless and dripping wet, carrying his running shoes. By 'tested' he meant 'jumped in', apparently.

She stared a moment, suddenly completely understanding his request to get her in the ocean. "Do we have to go downstairs?"

His eyes darkened as they roamed over her. "You wore a bikini," he said quietly, sounding very pleased.

"You asked very nicely," she said, bracing her hands on her hips so he could look his fill.

He came closer. "You are going to need quite a bit of sunblock."

"I was hoping you'd help me." She batted her lashes at him. "You have such good eyes, I know you won't miss a spot."

"Your skin is very pale. It's important I am thorough."

He was. In fact, it was the first sunblock application of her life that came with an orgasm.

She nuzzled into his shoulder. "We could totally just stay up here."

He fixed her bikini, which was still technically on, with great care. "The bed's all wet. We need to leave to let housekeeping in."

Well, if she went down to the water and let him watch her splash she'd probably get even better orgasms later. She heaved a sigh. "Fine. I'll get my book."

He kissed her, and went in search of his own bathing suit. Which turned out to have way more fabric to it than his running shorts. Mens clothing was funny. She considered pointing out the unfairness of it all, but feared it would be viewed as stalling.

They headed down to the beach, which was literally right outside the hotel restaurant. They strolled away from the hotel a few yards to find a clear spot of sand she could set up her towel and beach chair. The water was calm and clear and undulating gently—she'd seen lakes with more waves. Clint patiently waited for her to set up, helping her when she'd let him.

She draped the towel on the chair, then tucked her book into it. "All right. Water?"

He grinned, and held a hand out to her. "Water." She slid her good hand in his and followed him down to where the water lapped the shore. It was almost bathtub warm when it finally wrapped around her ankles. She walked with him until the water got deep enough he could give her a little tug and pull her into his arms. "Well?"

Sliding her arms around his waist, she smiled up at him. "It's very nice."

"I'm enjoying pretending to be newlyweds. It allows me an unprecedented level of public touching."

PDAs were generally verboten territory for them. The walls had eyes and all that. "I do like the way your hands feel on my skin."

He skimmed them down over her back, like the statement had been a request. "I don't ever get tired of this." 

"Me neither," she murmured. 

"So what do people do on honeymoons? Other than the obvious. Which we don't need any help with."

"For most people it's the most expensive vacation they'll ever take." Nat was a student of human behavior and tended to be full of random knowledge. "They do things they consider once in a lifetime activities. Paragliding, bungie jumping, mountain climbing. Dinner at expensive places. Swimming with dolphins. Swimming with sharks."

"Our every-day-at-the-office is filled with once in a lifetime activities."

Hell, she even had days in the office. Nothing was unique anymore. "This is our difficulty, I think. Though, I've never swum with dolphins."

He smiled. "Would you like to?"

She leaned back to look at him. "You know. I think I would."

"I will figure out how to make that happen, then." His certainty amused her. Clint had many, many strengths, but mission planning wasn't one of them. Still, it was their honeymoon. It was his job to make it memorable, right.

She stretched up to kiss him. "If you do, I might find a nice new bathing suit to buy."

"I'm pretty happy with this one. Though I certainly wouldn't surf in it."

"No, I have boring ones for that."

"I've never surfed. Though it seems like something I'd like."

"Do you want me to find somewhere to get lessons?"

"Seems like something the Bartletts would do. You'll managed to find an intimidatingly buff instructor, of course."

"I have totally not heard that Oahu firefighters teach surfing on their days off," she told him solemnly.

He shifted onto his back so he could float in the very gentle waves. "And the next thing you know, we'll be one of those couple's who is filing for divorce before opening all the wedding presents."

"Nonsense." She splashed water over his torso. "Just because I look at the menu doesn't mean I want to order."

"I don't really think they'd let you, anyway."

"Probably not." She added quietly, "You're the only man for me."

He turned his head to look at her, and then stood back on the sandy bottom. He looked at her for a long moment. "Likewise." Were they still playing other people? Maybe they were, and maybe they were using it as an excuse to say things neither of them could say otherwise.

She slid her arms around him and kissed him gently. "I think I'll go for a little swim. So you can get the full dripping wet effect."

"Don't go too far," he murmured.

"I'm wearing handkerchiefs and string, I promise not to join a triathlon."

"You could run a marathon in stilettos and win an MMA fight in an evening gown."

"I'd probably regret it afterwards, though," she replied with a grin.

"Have I told you how gorgeous you look in that bathing suit?"

"Not is so many words but I think you made your feelings clear upstairs."

He dunked himself fully under the water. "Enjoy your swim." She gave him one last playful splash, then dove under the water herself, swimming out deeper into the ocean before turning to swim parallel to the shore. 

*

Clint eventually made his way back to their beach chairs, sitting at watching Nat take her swim. They probably could both do for a little private space. They weren't really on a honeymoon. He imagined something like that—marriage or cohabitation—would make the two of them kill each other in short order.

That didn't change the fact that she was the only woman for him. And he, apparently, was the only man for him. A fact which he would have thought would terrify her but there had been no panic in her tone when she'd said it. In fact she had almost sounded relieved.

He'd known when they started all this that he was the first man she'd been with. . .voluntarily wasn't the right word, but of her own volition. He had tried not to think about whether or not there had been any other since. He suspected there hadn't, but that might be wishful thinking. Seemed likely there wouldn't be any in the future.

He rousted from his thoughts just in time to watch her walk out of the ocean, sunlight and dripping wet. Even while staring at her, he was very aware of his surroundings, and the way seemingly every man on the beach, including the lifeguards, stopped what they were doing to watch her progress. Sometimes he had no idea how he'd gotten this lucky.

When she reached him he held up her towel and she stood over him a moment to dry off. "Did I cause any accidents? Get any men hit by their girlfriends?"

"Someone may have drowned while the lifeguard was staring." When she sat in her chair, he leaned over to kiss her. It was a possessive move, but one he found himself unable to resist.

She grinned when he leaned back, obviously seeing right through him. "The water was lovely, by the way."

"I told you it would be." The fact that her nipples were hard and poking through the bikini fabric was impossibly not to notice. He saw her naked regularly, but the bits of fabric and the public setting seemed to make it all that much more distracting. He made himself look away before he got to the point he'd need to arrange his towel in his lap.

Settling onto her chair, she dug out her sunglasses and book and stretched her legs out in the sand. "I'll probably need more sunscreen soon," she said innocently. "With the water and all."

"And you do have porcelain skin," he replied, doing his best to stifle his groan.

"And I know you never miss a spot," she said, with just the right inflection.

"Okay, change the topic or you're going to get sunburned because I won't be able to stand up."

She smirked and bent her head over her book. "How about that local sports team? How do you think they will do in their next match or meet?"

"Does Hawaii have any sports teams?"

"They have collegiate teams, a minor baseball team and host the Pro Bowl every year in late January or early February."

She never went anywhere without knowing everything about her destination. He liked that about her. "There must be professional surfers."

"Yes, there are. It's an entire lifestyle, especially around here. I don't think they have patience for teaching newbie surfers, though."

"I could just sit here on this beach for a whole week and be happy."

She slowly turned the page. "I could probably convinced of that."

They spend the rest of the morning on the beach. Clint was very diligent with the sunblock, and they took dips in the ocean periodically to cool off. Time seemed to lose meaning. He was only aware of it passing by the sun moving, and by the fact that he was getting hungry.

Finally she closed her book. "I need a new book. Unless you want to change venues?"

He eyed the back of her very thick book. "The speed you read at astonishes me. And I think I'd like some lunch."

She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "There's a very nice restaurant thataway."

"I feel like we shouldn't eat all our meals at the hotel."

For a moment she looked surprised, then she grinned. "I have an extensive list of local restaurants upstairs."

"Did you buy a guidebook, Nat?"

"Yes, and I am not ashamed. Research saves lives and vacations."

He nodded, unable to disagree. When he stood up he felt his eyes on him, and he grinned, holding a hand down to her. "Let's go find some local food." She scooped up her towel and book and took his hand, letting him haul her to her feet.

She found them somewhere that was both crowded and seemed of questionable cleanliness, which usually meant for the best sort of local food. She brought her guidebook with her and let him flip through it while she managed to make her slow consumption of a scoop of mac salad surprisingly erotic.

He looked back at the book. They really ought to keep a lid on their libidos, or someone was going to end up chafed. 

"Were you having a naughty thought about me?" she asked. "Your resting serial killer face got slightly less homicidal."

He raised an eyebrow at her. She'd always teased him about his faces-- or lack thereof. "I was wondering if this trip is going to cause us to discover the number of times in a 24 hour period we can have sex before it starts to hurt. Also, are you seriously going to pretend you aren't felating your fork?"

She gave said utensil a long, flat tongued lick. "This potato salad is excellent."

He looked back at the guidebook. "How do you feel about kayaking?"

"I am willing to try everything once," she said, scraping up the last bite of salad and putting her fork down. "Our current record is five and a half, by the way."

"Whose half?"

"Mine. It was the day after the Swiss banker in Vienna. Weather closed the airport and we holed up in a hotel room."

Oh yes, he remembered that. They'd been stuck in that hotel room all day. It had a very nice bed, and a fireplace. "Now I feel obligated to try and break that."

"Why do you think I'm carb loading?" she asked, gesturing to her empty plate.

He flipped another page in the guidebook. "Does that mean you're willing to do all the work? In bed, I mean. Clearly I'm going to have to paddle the kayak."

"Maybe we shouldn't schedule sex marathon and kayaking on the same day. Also, I refuse to believe kayaking would exhaust you so much you couldn't put in a little effort. You flex your arms for a living."

"You'd be surprised how important hand strength is."

She pointed at him, nodding slowly. "That's a very good point."

He stole some of her rice. "You know, I've never had sex _in_ a kayak."

Bracing her chin on her fist, she said, "Oh, honey, you know I love it when you multi task."

"I would stop paddling first. Let's not get carried away."

She laughed. "Of course. Are those the only two activities that peak your interest?"

"I'm assuming you won't enjoy hiking. Too many bugs. How do you feel about luaus? There's also a submarine. And Coulson told me I had to feed you something called a malasada." He paused. "There's also. . .shopping." 

"I love that you say that in the same tone you would use to refer to water boarding."

He rolled his eyes. "Come now. Waterboarding isn't that bad."

Shaking her head, she drank the last of her coffee. "I do want to shop a little. You don't have to come, but you need to tell me where you got your clothes so I can find out what scent they spritzed you with."

"There was a mall. I went to the Walmart, and then while trying to get back from there I somehow ended up in the mall parking deck. So I went inside. The book says there's outdoor shopping, which sounds slightly more pleasant."

She sighed expressively. Apparently narrowing it down to "a mall" was insufficient. "We can negotiate that later. We have plenty of time here."

"I think it was french. The store."

"I can find a target in a crowded marketplace in Marrakesh, I can find that cologne."

He grinned. "You really do like it, don't you?"

"I had thought I made that fairly obvious the other night. And now that it has that particular memory associated with it, I like it even more."

The thought made him grin wider. "Then we'll find it." He leaned over to pick up her now-empty plate. "I _also_ want to find some good winding roads to sling that car around on."

"That will tie in perfectly with me wanting to visit an historic cliff that a king threw some invaders off of."

He tilted his head. "And here I was trying to be polite and not drag you to a bunch of scenic lookouts." He opened the guidebook to the page about that he'd already marked.

She stretched to peer at the book upside down. "You can convince me to go just about anywhere with a good story. Oh, I want to go to the Buddhist temple."

"Why?"

"I like temples. I want to light incense and buy a cheap trinket."

"Praying for anything in particular?"

Her mouth thinned and he suspected she didn't appreciate the question. "Clarity," was all she said.

He reached out and touched the back of her hand with one finger. "Sorry."

She flashed a quick, apologetic smile. "No, it's all right. I shouldn't get snippy. I try not to get. . . sensitive around you."

"I didn't intend to mock. I just. . . every time I think I know everything about you, you unfold another layer."

One shoulder lifted in a shrug. "I don't believe in God. But I like to believe in enlightenment. The wisdom we all carry around with us. I like the idea of becoming so at peace with yourself you can be something better.”

He turned her hand over and laced their fingers together. “Kayak, aftershave, pastry, Cliffs of Doom, and a temple. Sounds good to me.”

She leaned across to kiss him. “Good.”


	10. Ada The Clever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to go up LAST weekend for Olives' birthday but I am lazy and slow. So now it's here to celebrate us going to Civil War in a couple hours.
> 
> If you're not a fan of my Dark Inside stories this might not be as entertaining. But we've mentioned "Odin's" girlfriend previously and are now making it canon :)

Ada Marsh loved the library of Asgard more than any place she’d every been.

Her friends at school talked about going to DisneyWorld and Six Flags and the shore. Ada herself had gone to Hawaii for a vacation with her Mom and Dad and Uncle Tony and his family and that had certainly been cool. But given the choice, she’d take a day in the library before a month in Hawaii or DisneyWorld or anywhere else on Earth she’d heard of.

Hawaii didn’t have history books of different planets, going back before life began on Earth. It didn’t have science books that were as good as spell books from a fairy tale. It didn’t have a spiral staircase of gold that lead up to the mysterious top shelves Ada had never dared go to.

If there was life after death, Ada hoped it looked like a giant library.

Thor brought her up the Asgard when she did something especially helpful or good or got an impressed note home from her teacher. So she tended to be up their quite a bit. Thor had the patience of a saint (Ada had heard her mother say this more than once so it had to be true, even if it mixed religions) but even he had his limits. So eventually, after a lot of very long boring conversations among the adults, it was agreed that Heimdall could bring her up alone, but she had a time limit to how long she could be gone, otherwise she’d be up there all day.

Still, it was an amazing amount of freedom and trust and she was doing her very best not to take advantage of it. So when she was brought up she went immediately to the library and didn’t leave until her watch alarm buzzed and it was time to go back to the Bifrost gate.

She was several chapters into a History of Warfare when a shadow passed into her light and she looked up to find a woman standing next to her chair. She was tall, taller than Dad but not as tall as Thor, with dark blonde hair and a dress the color of the ocean in Hawaii. For a moment Ada panicked. She wasn’t entirely sure if she was supposed to be there. Thor and Heimdall said it was okay, and no one ever noticed her when she walked to and from the Gate. But Thor also made a point of not drawing attention or introducing her when she did run into people. She’d never met his father or any of his warrior friends.

The woman smiled, a crooked little smile that made her look like she had a secret. “Hello.” Her accent was different than Thor’s. Crisper. “You’re the little Midgardian Thor brings here, aren’t you?”

Well, she didn’t _look_ mad. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her smile got bigger and more crooked at the same time, which Ada would have guessed wasn’t possible, but there it was. “I’m Syn. The Truthful.”

“Oh! You’re Thor’s father’s girlfriend!”

“Yes,” Syn said carefully. “I’m the king’s consort.”

Ada stuck her hand out. “I’m Ada. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Syn blinked at her hand a moment, then took it, shaking it. Her had was cool and soft, with painted nails and long fingers. “What are you reading, Ada?”

She tipped the book up so the woman could see the spine. “History of Warfare.”

“Heavy reading for a child.” Ada would have prickled at the comment, but she sounded impressed, so she let it slide. “Do you like history?”

“Some. I don't really like war, but it talks about some of the weapons and that’s interesting.

“Ah, you like science.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tipping her head back, she scanned the shelves that rose around them. “And what of fairy tales? Does a studious girl like yourself ever indulge?”

“Sometimes. Why are you called the Truthful?”

She looked back down at her. “It’s tradition in my realm to give nobility titles.”

Ada perked up. “You’re from a different realm? Which one?”

“Alfheim.” Syn glanced up again and made a gesture and a book appeared in her hand. She flipped through it a moment before setting it on the table next to Ada. It was open to a painting of a coastal kingdom, with a sea dotted with ships and a very stone castle in the background. “That’s my home. We have a great deal of agriculture and fishing, as well as some mining.”

Ada studied the picture a moment. There was a caption and notes in the margins, but they were written in a runic alphabet she couldn’t read. “Are you given your nickname as a child or an adult? What kind of things do you grow? Do you have vibranium on other realms or is that only earth? Jane said you’re a queen, are you the queen of the whole realm or are there lots of them?” She stopped, realizing she was probably tipping into annoying interrogation.

But when she looked up, Syn was smiling widely. She folded gracefully into the chair next to Ada. “Not at childhood. There’s a ceremony when you come of age and you’re given a title based on your achievements or personality or where their path in life seems to be going.”

“Mine would probably be Ada the Smart.”

Syn studied her. “Ah, I think you sell yourself short.”

Mildly offended, Ada said, “But it’s good to be smart.”

“Yes, it is. But there are a lot of smart people in the realms. Millions. Billions. Smart in all different ways. But smart can only get you part of the way. You’re much more than smart. You’re inquisitive and determined.” She grinned. “And clever.”

Ada hesitated, though she couldn’t help the little swell of pride at the woman’s words. “You just met me, you can’t know all of that.”

“Certainly I can. You’ve asked me half a dozen questions in the mere minutes we’ve known each other, so clearly you’re inquisitive. You’re here reading a dry as dust history book to glean even the barest knowledge of weapons technology, so you’re very determined. And you’re holding your own in a conversation with me, so you must be clever, because I am very clever.” She grinned and Ada couldn’t help but smile back.

The queen answered the rest of her questions and many more, bringing down books to help illustrate her points. At one point she had a servant bring cookies and Ada was a little hesitant to accept them. In the stories you weren’t supposed to eat food from fairies or other worlds. But then she remembered Uncle Steve and some of the others drank Asgardian mead and were just fine so she indulged. They were some of the best cookies she’d ever eaten.

Her watch buzzed in the middle of a discussion of Alfan plant life and Ada jumped. “Oh, I have to get home.” She started closing the books in front of her in an attempt to tidy up.

Syn stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “Allow me.” She gestured and the whole mess disappeared, hopefully back to their original places. Only one book was left and Ada didn’t recognize it.

“What’s this?”

“You said you occasionally read fairy tales.” Syn stroked the leather book. “This is a book of Alfan fairy tales. I read it every night when I was a little girl. I thought you might like it.”

Reverently, Ada touched the book. “But I can’t read the runes.”

Syn smiled and opened the book. When Ada peered at it she found it written in clear English. “It wouldn’t be very clever to give you a gift you couldn’t use.”

Wide eyed, Ada flipped through the book before closing it and gathering it up to her chest. “Thank you,” she said solemnly.

“You’re very welcome.” She stood and held out a hand. “Come, I’ll walk you to the Bifrost Gate so Heimdall knows you’re allowed to have the book.”

Ada obediently took her hand as they walked out to the Bifrost Gate. She never got tired of the view from the bridge, the sea of stars spreading out beneath her. “Do you think I could visit Alfheim some day?”

“I’d be quite pleased to show you my home,” Syn told her. “You’re welcome any time.”

They reached the gate room and Heimdall nodded in acknowledgement of them both. “Miss Ada. Your Majesty.”

“Hello Gatekeeper,” Syn said with a smile. “I met our visitor in the library and had a lovely visit.” She turned to Ada. “Safe travels home, Ada the Clever.”

She grinned and hugged her. “Thank you.” Syn’s hand rested on her back between her shoulders, pressing her in a hug. Then Ada stepped back and stood where Heimdall had told her so she could use the Bifrost. She waved brightly at Syn, hugging her book to her chest with the other arm. She had enough time to see the queen wave back as the Bifrost sucked her in.

*

“So you found my brother’s pet human, alone and helpless, completely at your mercy. . . and you fed her _cookies_.”

Syn rolled her eyes, brushing her hair out. “She’s a child, Loki. I’m not a monster. And take that ridiculous glamour off, you’re making me nauseous.”

The Odin glamour melted off, revealing Loki lounging in the bed behind her. “I didn’t say you had to hurt her. Just get creative. Perhaps an amulet to let me spy on them.”

“I’m fairly confident you’d find the comings and goings of an eight year old human child fairly boring, dearest.” She stood and crossed to the bed. “She’s clever and inquisitive. You’d probably like her if you weren’t such a grouch.”

“I’m not a grouch,” he protested with something near a pout.

“Of course not, darling.” She kissed his temple as she climbed beneath the covers and he tucked an arm around her.

“I humor his little wife, isn’t that enough?”

“You’re the model of restraint and tolerance, Loki.”

He grumbled, nuzzling at her hair. “You’ve mellowed me. Made me complacent.”

“How awful of me. Does that mean you don’t want to discuss making some little heirs of our own?” There was complete and utter silence so she leaned back to find him wide-eyed and panicked. Laughing, Syn rolled away, snapping her fingers to turn out the lights.


End file.
